


everything that's right (at the wrong time)

by Spikedluv



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Agents of SHIELD, Background Captain America, Background Fandoms, Background Hawkeye, Background Iron Man, Background Phil/Audrey, Background Relationships, Background Thor - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Light Angst, M/M, Mention of case involving kidnapping and trafficking, Mention of off-screen homophobia and sexual harrassment, Mission Fic, Original Character Death(s), Pre-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 07:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11754708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: Phil and Clint have a friends-with-benefits relationship until Phil decides to get married – to someone who is not Clint.  Breaking up affects their working relationship and their friendship more than sleeping together ever did, and Phil learns that the saying ‘don’t know what you have until it’s gone’ is achingly true.





	1. Prologue and Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunabee34 (Lorraine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/gifts).



> Written for Round 5 of [WIP BB on LJ](http://wipbigbang.livejournal.com/): Back on 7/14/15 I made a [prompt post](http://spikedluv.dreamwidth.org/1155511.html) and asked my f-list to pick a dialogue prompt and fandom/pairing. Lunabee34 chose _"I'm sorry if it upsets you, but I'm going to marry her." for Clint/Coulson_. My first thought was, damn, that would be one angsty fic! I can’t do that! My muse, being the contrary creature she is, decided that I should begin writing it the next day. (Also being contrary, I didn't finish it until 2 years later thanks to WIP BB.)
> 
> Posted: August 10, 2017

**Prologue**

“You’re getting married,” Clint repeated flatly.

“I am,” Phil said, keeping his voice even.

“To Audrey.”

“Yes.”

“What happened to ‘SHIELD agents don’t have the luxury of relationships’?” Clint said. Before Phil could answer, Clint went on, softly. “You told me that you’d given up on the whole idea of the white picket fence and two point five.”

“Things have changed,” Phil said impassively.

“I guess finding the right person’ll do that,” Clint said, sounding almost bitter. “Congratulations, sir,” he added with more reserve than Clint had ever used with him, even during his early days at SHIELD. Especially during his early days at SHIELD. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” Phil said, because there was nothing else _to_ say. His heart was inexplicably heavy as he watched Clint turn and leave his office.

 

**Chapter One**

Phil tapped his fingers on the top of his desk as the memory played to its conclusion. From the first his relationship with Clint had been . . . complicated. A working relationship that began with a recruitment speech that included a bullet to the leg couldn’t escape complicated. It had taken Phil months to earn Clint’s trust.

Which didn’t mean that Clint hadn’t tested Phil to see how far he could push him before Phil wrote him off. It was tedious and frustrating, and worth every moment for the asset Agent Clint Barton became.

Phil hadn’t been unaware of Barton’s attractiveness, nor the flirting that they could play off as a joke so long as neither one acknowledged the fact that it could so very easily turn into more. They walked that fine line for several years, past bullet wounds, and falling off buildings, and hours of Barton’s voice in his ear until one mission where they finally stuck a toe over it.

It hadn’t even been a close call, so Phil couldn’t blame it on adrenaline. In fact, the mission had been a lot of hurry up and wait, with bad intel that ultimately had them looking for their mark in the wrong damn country. Since no one had been hurt, and their covers hadn’t been blown, and they didn’t need to get as far away from a dead body as quickly as they could, their extraction was moved down on the priority list.

Which meant they had time to kill and nowhere to go to work off the end-of-mission bleed. They were stuck together in a small, one bedroom apartment with a radio, a deck of cards, and a six-pack of local beer.

After their first beer and a couple hands of Gin Rummy, Clint joked, “I know how we could kill some time.”

“I’m your handler, Barton,” Phil said, hands not missing a beat as he shuffled the deck.

“I’ve got something you could handle,” Clint muttered, low enough that Phil could ignore it like he had always done in the past.

Which is exactly what Phil did. Or intended to do. But something must’ve shown on his face because Clint said, “Seriously?”

“No,” Phil said.

“You want to,” Clint said, sounding as if someone had punched him in the gut.

“It’s not going to happen,” Phil said evenly, internally swearing at himself for allowing the slip of his feelings to muddy the waters.

“But you want to,” Clint said, still sounding as if he couldn’t wrap his head around that fact. “No,” he said when Phil opened his mouth to deny it. “I don’t want to hear that we _can’t_. Don’t quote regs at me. Tell me, tell me you don’t _want_ to.”

“I can’t say that,” Phil said honestly. “But it’s still not going to happen.”

They didn’t have sex that night, nor the next, nor did they talk about it again. Clint looked at him differently now – sometimes Phil would catch a considering look on Clint’s face before he schooled his expression – but their working relationship remained as smooth as ever.

The worst part was, now that it was out in the open it was like a scab he couldn’t stop picking at, and Phil couldn’t stop thinking about it. Then Barton took two bullets to the chest and almost bled out despite Phil pressing his suit jacket to the wounds in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. Phil didn’t leave Barton’s side until they wheeled him into the operating room. He went to the men’s room to wash the blood off his hands in deference to the other people sitting in the waiting room, but he didn’t have a clean shirt to change into and he wasn’t leaving until he heard that Barton was in the clear.

It wasn’t the first time Phil spent hours at Clint’s hospital bedside, but it was the first time he refused to leave until Clint woke up, though he did take a few minutes for a quick shower and change of clothes once Barton was out of surgery, and after that only when Fury demanded his presence to go over the botched mission. (They’d gotten their man – Barton never missed, even after he’d been shot, apparently – but any mission from which Barton returned with two bullets lodged in his chest was a colossal failure in Phil’s mind.)

Clint woke up the first time just long enough for Phil to touch his hand and say, “You’re safe, Barton.”

The second time Phil gave him a couple of ice chips and once Barton could speak, he said, “We get him?” He was asleep again before Phil finished saying, “Of course we did; you never miss, remember?”

The third time, Clint stayed awake a little longer. Phil fed him some ice chips. A nurse came in and checked the machines Barton was hooked up to.

“Talk to me,” Barton said.

Phil raised an eyebrow at the reversal of their positions, but complied, sharing the gossip that Sitwell had passed on when he dropped by to bring Phil a cup of coffee and a sandwich and to check on Clint. Clint’s eyelids grew heavy and closed. He reached out restlessly until Phil took his hand.

“Stay?” Clint breathed softly without opening his eyes.

“Of course,” Phil said.

A couple minutes went by, Clint’s breaths evened out, and Phil thought he’d fallen back to sleep. Clint whispered, “Bet you thought you lost your chance to tap this, huh, sir?”

“Go to sleep, Barton,” Phil said, his voice soft and dry, but the back of his eyes stung and there was a lump in his throat.

Phil waited for a month before bringing it up again. Even after he was released from Medical, Clint was on bed rest, and then physical therapy, and then light duty. He didn’t want Barton to say yes out of sheer boredom. The first day Barton was allowed back on the range for a drastically reduced practice session, Phil called him to his office to see how he’d done, and how he felt after shooting the bow.

When they were done with that, Phil closed Barton’s file and set it aside. “I’d like to talk to you about another matter.”

Clint, who’d looked like he was getting ready to stand up, let himself relax back into the chair. “If this is about the pudding incident in the cafeteria, it wasn’t me, sir,” he said, very unconvincingly.

“I’m unaware of a pudding incident,” Phil said, “and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Clint mimed zipping his lips. Phil rolled his eyes because that never worked.

“What’s up, sir?”

“Are you still interested in having sex with me?” Phil said baldly. He’d been thinking about his approach for the last month and he figured that direct was the best way.

Clint looked a little bit like a deer caught in the headlights, and it took him a few seconds to respond. “Is this a trick question? Sir?”

“It’s a question, Barton,” Phil said. “Requiring a yes or no answer. If it’s no, then we’ll forget that I brought it up. No harm, no foul.”

“No!” Clint said. Phil’s heart sank a little bit, but before he could think about why that was, Clint went on. “I don’t want to forget about it! And yes, of course I’m still interested.”

“There would be some ground rules,” Phil said to hide the relief he felt.

“Of course there would be,” Clint said with a smile that went all the way to his eyes and made the corners crinkle.

Phil ignored the warmth that spread through his body at the sight, and said, “It would be just sex. Relationships and SHIELD agents don’t work out well, in my experience.” Maybe they did for other agents, but not for him. “If it begins to impact our working relationship, or our friendship, then it ends.”

Clint looked a little bit surprised when Phil mentioned their friendship, but he agreed.

“And nothing happens on-base or during a mission,” Phil said.

Clint’s face fell. “Aww, boss, do you know how many fantasies of getting fucked over your desk you just dashed?”

Phil felt his ears go hot, but he kept his expression blank. “I said not on-base, Barton; I didn’t say anything about the desk I have at home.”

Clint’s eyes went wide, and then he gave a delighted laugh.

Phil felt his own lips twitch, but bit back the smile. “I was thinking of ordering Thai and watching a couple of episodes of Super Nanny if you wanted to come over tonight.”

Clint’s laughter caught in his throat. He choked out, “Tonight?”

“Unless you have other plans,” Phil said calmly, and held his breath.

“No,” Clint said. “I mean, yes. No, I don’t have other plans.”

They met in the garage at six pm and Phil drove them to his apartment. They picked up Thai take-out and ate it sitting on the couch in front of the television. Phil had wanted to give Clint at least a few episodes to get used to the idea Phil had been mulling over for the past month, but the food had barely been finished and the credits were rolling on the first episode when Clint twisted on the couch and crawled onto Phil’s lap and kissed him.

~*~

Thus began a handful of years punctuated with really good sex. It wasn’t every night, and sometimes weeks would go by before one or the other issued another invitation. When they went to Phil’s apartment, Clint would sometimes spend the night unless he needed to be in earlier than Phil.

They weren’t exclusive, and if Phil felt a stab of something that wasn’t jealousy exactly when he realized that Clint had been out with someone else, he reminded himself that this was what he’d wanted. He’d tried relationships before and they’d never worked out. The friends with benefits route was much better. And it wasn’t as if Phil was celibate outside of their arrangement. Granted, he didn’t go out looking for partners, and they didn’t fall into his lap like they did Clint’s, but he wasn’t completely lacking.

They brought in the Black Widow and Clint started spending more and more time with her until months would go by before he and Phil got together again. One time Clint suggested a threesome, assuring Phil that he hadn’t told Natasha about their arrangement, but that he knew she’d be amenable. Phil dismissed the notion out of hand. By then they were a team, and Phil was already breaking the rules by occasionally sleeping with one of his assets.

The thing with Barton and Natasha eventually tapered off, and Phil began seeing more of Barton again. And then he met Audrey. She was just supposed to be another one-night stand to fill the time between nights he and Barton spent together. But he saw her a second time, and then a third, and Phil realized that he liked her quite a lot.

Phil continued to see Barton because he’d been up front with Audrey after their second date that he was seeing other people on occasion. She’d been just as busy as Phil, even if her work wasn’t quite as dangerous, and the arrangement had worked for them.

Phil didn’t know if he stopped going to Clint, or if Clint stopped coming to him, but one day he realized that he was seeing Audrey more than he was seeing Clint. Audrey was beautiful, and she made him laugh, and they had a lot in common, even if Phil did have to lie to her about his job.

He and Audrey had been seeing each other for a year when Phil found himself thinking that maybe he could do this after all, maybe he could have a relationship, have something normal outside of SHIELD. He’d told himself for years that he didn’t want that, but now he wondered if that had merely been because he didn’t think he _could_ have it.

Phil surprised himself one day by slowing down and checking out the diamond rings on display in the window of a jewelry store as he passed it. The next time he went in and priced the rings. On his fifth visit he finally chose a ring. Phil considered himself to be decisive, but choosing an engagement ring that he thought Audrey would like took him a few visits.

Perhaps that was a sign he should’ve heeded. Instead he took Audrey to dinner and a movie, a repeat of their first date, and asked her to marry him over ice cream cones after the movie.

Phil called Clint into his office that Monday morning. Phil waited until Clint was seated with his coffee to tell him that they couldn’t continue seeing each other. Phil knew it might come as a surprise to Clint since they never spoke of their other liaisons with each other, but he hadn’t expected the undisguised hurt that Clint couldn’t hide, or the way his voice sounded dead when he spoke. And he hadn’t expected his own sense of loss when Clint walked out of his office and it hit Phil that they were really over.

What Phil also hadn’t expected was that the ending of their arrangement affected their working relationship and friendship more than the sex ever had.

~*~*~*~

Wednesday morning Fury was waiting for Phil in his office. He was sitting in Phil’s chair, his feet up on the desk. Phil didn’t react because he knew that’s what Nick wanted.

“What’s going on with you and Barton?” Fury said before Phil could ask him what he was doing there.

“What do you mean?” Phil said. He kept his voice even, and his blank mask firmly in place. He didn’t know whether Fury had gotten wind of his relationship with Barton, but Phil wasn’t going to give anything away in case Nick was just on a fishing expedition.

“Barton’s put himself back on rotation,” Fury said.

“What are you talking about?” Phil said, letting a little bit of the confusion he felt leak out.

“When he first started working with you, Barton took himself off rotation and refused to work with other teams.”

“Barton didn’t work with other handlers because I was his handler, and then we were a team,” Phil said.

“You were a team by default because Barton refused to play well with others,” Fury said. “We let him get away with it because he was that damned good, and the two of you were the best damned team I’d ever seen.”

“It’s good that Barton now feels comfortable enough to work with other teams,” Phil said, but he knew his voice sounded wooden.

“That’s the angle you’re taking with this?” Fury said.

“What other angle could I possibly take?”

“You’re not the slightest bit worried that they’ll bring your boy back broken?” Fury said.

The idea of it was like being stabbed in the chest, but Phil merely said, “Agent Barton is a grown man and, as you said, damned good. Also, he’s not my boy.”

“Well, not anymore, apparently,” Fury agreed. He jabbed a finger at Phil. “Whatever you’ve done, it had better not interfere with my best team.”

“I’m getting married,” Phil blurted out.

“Well, damn,” Fury said. “Not to Barton, I take it.”

Phil glared at Fury.

“Guess that means I’ll be sending Barton out with other teams, after all.” Fury stood and walked to the door, stopped before pulling it open. “Wonder if it’s too late to take ‘never’ in the pool of when the two of you will finally get your heads out of your asses.”

Phil spent the morning doing paperwork and actively not thinking about Fury’s last words. There was fallout from an op in Uzbekistan that he had to deal with (the fact that it hadn’t been his op until the shit had already hit the proverbial fan made it all the more frustrating), and there was a situation in Cali, Columbia he was keeping an eye on. Between those two matters he approved requisitions and requests for time off. For a spy organization, Phil spent an inordinate amount of time doing paperwork.

Clint didn’t meet him in his office so they could walk to the cafeteria together, nor was he waiting for him in the cafeteria when Phil got there. Phil wasn’t surprised, but he already found himself missing Barton’s chatter. He was just going to grab a sandwich and head back to his office when he saw Sitwell waving at him. Phil acknowledged the wave and picked up a tray as he looked over the lunch options. He’d keep Sitwell company since he wasn’t looking forward to returning to his office and the paperwork awaiting him; it had nothing to do with how lonely it was without Barton’s very large presence filling it.

“Coulson,” Sitwell said as Phil set down his tray on the table across from him.

“Sitwell,” Phil said. He pulled out a chair and sat.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” Sitwell said as Phil picked up half the sandwich he’d decided to go with anyway. “But I figured I’d come down and keep you company in case you showed up.”

“Why would I need company?” Phil said after he’d finished chewing.

“With Barton being unavailable,” Sitwell said.

“Unavailable?” Phil said, voice even, face an expressionless mask even as his belly twisted violently.

“The Liechtenstein mission,” Sitwell said.

“Barton was called up for that?”

Sitwell gave him a considering look. “You didn’t know?”

“I knew he was back on rotation,” Phil said, as if he hadn’t just found out that morning, and only because Fury had stopped by to yell at him and drop that bombshell. “I didn’t realize he’d already been tapped for a mission.”

“It’s not surprising, really,” Sitwell said. “A dozen senior agents simultaneously jizzed themselves when they found out that Barton was available.”

Phil raised an eyebrow at Sitwell’s choice of language and tried not to think about why the imagery bothered him. Sitwell just shrugged.

They ate in silence for a few minutes until Sitwell broke it. “You know, there’s been some talk.”

Phil merely raised an eyebrow in response, but he was glad he hadn’t taken another bite when Sitwell went on.

“They’re wondering if you and Barton had a lover’s spat.”

“Where would they get that idea?” Phil said evenly, while thinking to himself that it was too close to the truth for comfort.

“In all the years Barton’s been here he’s refused to work with anyone but you,” Sitwell said.

Phil knew that Barton had been difficult when he’d first arrived at SHIELD, which was why he’d been given charge of his training. They’d developed a trust that allowed them to become one of the best teams SHIELD had. Phil had known that Barton didn’t work with other teams, but he’d never realized that he didn’t work with them because he’d refused to work with anyone but Phil.

Hearing that spelled out for him twice in one day only now that Clint had made himself available to other teams, Phil keenly felt the loss of something he’d never realized he had. “Maybe Barton’s grown as an agent and a person,” Phil said.

Sitwell just looked at him. Yeah, Phil would have to be a much better liar than he was to sell that one.

Thankfully Sitwell let the matter drop and Phil finished his lunch in peace, if not quiet. Sitwell loved to gossip, and Phil now knew more about the love lives of three junior agents than he needed to, but it kept Sitwell from mentioning the Barton situation again and so Phil didn’t interrupt him. They bussed their trays and were headed out of the cafeteria when Sitwell brought up Barton again.

“The jet hasn’t left yet if you wanted to see Barton for a little hand-holding or a tearful goodbye.”

“Barton doesn’t need me to hold his hand,” Phil said.

“So you’re saying there would be a tearful goodbye, then?” Sitwell said.

The bastard just laughed when Phil glared at him.

~*~

The first thing Phil did when he got back to his office was pull up the file on the Liechtenstein mission. Phil was aware of it because he was a top level agent, and weekly briefings for Level 8 and above aside, some of the paperwork had crossed his desk. Now Phil read the entire file with an eye to looking for any issues that might crop up. The mission had been planned with a fine eye to detail, and Phil couldn’t find a single thing wrong. He knew he should be pleased about that, but he just felt . . . empty.

Phil returned to his paperwork until the alarm he’d set to inform him that the jet was taking off beeped. He linked into the comms in operations and listened as the team boarded and the jet was approved for take off. His hands shook a little bit when the full impact of the situation hit him and he realized that Barton was out there without him. Not that he didn’t trust Barton to get the job done, and he couldn’t say that Agent Josephina Carey didn’t have the experience and talent to keep the mission from going sideways. He just really hated the whole idea of it, that he wouldn’t be there when things went wrong, as they invariably did.

Phil looked up from the request for off-base housing that he’d been staring unseeing at when the door opened and Fury stood filling the doorway. It was Fury’s second visit to Phil’s office in less than twelve hours and that had to be some kind of record.

“Are you planning to monitor the entire op from here?” Fury demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Phil said placidly.

Fury snorted. “You’re screwing with my well-oiled machine,” he said. “And I don’t like it.”

Fury swept out of Phil’s office as dramatically as he’d appeared, leaving the door standing open. Phil wondered if Fury was purposely throwing sexual innuendo into their conversation, or if Phil was just hearing it because he was feeling guilty.

Phil did not monitor the op from his office, but only to spite Fury and his all-seeing eye. He did, however, remain at HQ until he heard that the mission had been successful and that the only injuries were a broken finger and some bruises. The more surprising thing was that none of the injured were Barton.

Clint didn’t stop by to see Phil when he got back, and the only way he knew that the team had returned (aside from the fact that he had obsessively refreshed the status page until he saw that the jet had landed), was a copy of Barton’s clearance from medical hitting his in-box.

Over the next two weeks Barton went out on three missions, but even when he was on-base he avoided Phil. There was no more Monday morning meetings over coffee to plan their week, lunch on Wednesday, paperwork Thursday afternoon, or shared time at the range. Phil found out about training Clint undertook when he received the sign-up or completion forms in his e-mail. He only knew about the missions because he set himself up to receive notifications of everything pertaining to Barton after the first mission with Carey, including requests for him to be included on an op.

Phil couldn’t deny that he missed Clint, and not just the sex, but he also enjoyed Audrey’s company, and for the few hours he was with her he could forget about how epically messed up everything was with Barton right now.

Phil thought their first mission as a team after he’d announced his engagement went as well as it could given the awkwardness between him and Clint. It was a file Phil had been working on for a while that took a sudden turn. Both Barton and Romanov had to be pulled off other, lower priority missions for this one, but neither appeared to mind.

They were both attentive during Phil’s briefing, and Clint even asked for clarification on a few points. The jet ride to their destination was silent, except for the occasional softly spoken exchange between Clint and Natasha, and Barton didn’t break comm silence, only speaking when Phil asked for updates.

When the mark appeared, Phil denied Clint’s pre-mature request to take the shot. The silence that fell over comms was loaded, but Clint took the shot when Phil gave the okay after Natasha had copied some files off his computer and escaped without drawing attention to herself. They made it to the extraction point before Clint brought up the shot he’d wanted to take.

“We couldn’t risk alerting anyone who might raise the alarm before Natasha got out of there,” Phil said.

“He was alone, out of sight of his bodyguards, and in the perfect position for me to take him out,” Clint said angrily.

“You used to trust me to make these calls,” Phil said.

Clint froze, looking like he’d been slapped, and then he threw himself into a seat and ignored Phil for the rest of the flight back to HQ. It gave Phil a long time to think about how long ago it had been since Clint had questioned one of Phil’s orders in the field.

Phil started listening in on the briefings before missions Clint undertook with another team. Barton asked a lot of questions, requested clarifications, and made suggestions. Phil wasn’t surprised, because he hadn’t worked with any of the agents long enough, or often enough, to develop trust in them. (Part of that was probably Phil’s fault for never having insisted that Barton work with other agents, but he’d been selfish, and a little bit proud of the fact that he and Barton, and then the three of them, worked so well together.)

The problem came when Phil realized that Barton was now doing the same thing in briefings he held with Barton and Romanov. It hurt a lot more than it should have. Things came to a head when Barton jumped off a building because he didn’t trust Phil to have his back.

When Clint had been released from medical for that stunt, Phil requested Barton’s presence in his office. The space had once been Clint’s as much as Phil’s, but now it felt strange to have Barton standing at attention in front of his desk because he refused to slouch in one of the chairs or sprawl on the couch. Phil decided to be direct, since that had worked for them in the past.

“You don’t trust me anymore,” Phil said. Clint didn’t say anything, but the corner of his eye twitched. Phil deflated like a punctured balloon because, despite the evidence to the contrary, there had still been some small part of him that had hoped it wasn’t true.

“What’s changed?” Phil said, trying to keep a professional mein.

Clint gave him a look. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

“Yes,” Phil said.

“You lied to me,” Clint said.

“I have _never_ lied to you,” Phil denied.

“SHIELD agents can’t do relationships,” Clint spat. “Sound familiar?”

“That wasn’t a lie,” Phil said.

“Really? Because it looks like one from where I’m standing.”

“I didn’t realize I could,” Phil said. “It’s never worked out well in the past, and there was never anyone I was willing to chance it with until I met Audrey,” he tried to explain.

“Wow,” Clint said. “That’s . . . So just to clarify, you never once thought I might be worth taking a chance on.”

“What?” Phil said dumbly.

“Who’m I kidding,” Clint said, more to himself than Phil. “Of course you didn’t.”

“What?” Phil said again, because this was just . . . surreal. “You never indicated . . . You said it was just sex.”

“No,” Clint said. “ _You_ said it was just sex, and I agreed because I was pathetic enough to be willing to take what I could get.”

“What?” Phil said, sounding like a broken record even to his own ears. “I don’t understand.”

“I think we should see other teams,” Clint said sharply. “That’s how you like it, right?”

Clint was gone before Phil could formulate a response. He remained sitting at his desk, staring at nothing, his mind whirling with Barton’s revelations, unable to pick one thing out of the maelstrom to contemplate.

Phil didn’t move until his phone rang with a directive to report to Director Fury’s office. Fury took one look at Phil’s face and said, “What the hell happened?”

“I think Clint’s in love with me,” Phil said, the words sounding strange on his tongue. “He’s not taking my engagement well.”

Fury gave Phil a pitying look and shook his head. “Of course he’s not, asshole! Sit down before you fall down.” Fury withdrew a bottle and two tumblers out of his bottom drawer. He poured and pushed one over to Phil, who just stared at it.

“Do I look that bad?” Phil asked.

“Worse,” Fury said.

~*~

Barton worked with handlers other than Phil almost exclusively now. To the point where Phil had to request him if he was putting together an op that required Barton’s particular skill set.

Phil continued as Natasha’s main handler. He’d given her the option to choose another, but she’d just given him a look that made him feel foolish, and walked away.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then,” Phil said, mostly to himself since Natasha had turned her back on him. “Good talk.”

Natasha called back something in Russian that Phil was glad he didn’t understand.

Phil went through specialists like the IT department went through Red Bull. When he showed up in Fury’s office after the latest mission, Fury sighed. “What is it this time?”

Phil slapped the file he’d brought with him onto Fury’s desk. “Agent Sanchez didn’t know the meaning of the term ‘radio silence,’ he argued with me about where he should set up, and he shot too soon, nearly blowing Romanov’s cover.”

“I’ve read Sanchez’s file,” Fury said. “He’s a smart ass, just like Barton, which is why I thought the two of you would get along perfectly.”

Barton could be a pain in the ass when he wanted to be, but he had the chops to back it up. Phil told Fury as much, and then stormed out of his office. He passed the elevators and locked himself in the bathroom. Phil stared at his reflection in the mirror, because he knew he was being unreasonable, and wondered what the hell he was doing.

Raul Sanchez had maybe been a little too much like Barton, but if Phil was comparing them all to Barton, then it was no wonder they were coming up short. Barton had been a once in a lifetime find and no one else would ever measure up. It was unfair of Phil to expect them to just because he missed Barton.

If there were issues, _real_ issues that didn’t have anything to do with them not being Barton, then they needed to be addressed. And if the only problem with them had been Phil’s apparent inability to deal with no longer having Barton on his team, then, well, that would need to be addressed, too.

Phil used the facilities since he was already there. He washed his hands and dabbed at a stray strand of hair, then straightened his jacket. Phil glanced into the mirror and steeled himself to return to Fury’s office.

Phil ignored the fact that Fury was staring at the doorway, fingers steepled under his chin, as if he’d been expecting Phil’s return. “Give me the file back,” Phil said.

“Which one?” Fury said, maddeningly calm.

“All of them,” Phil said.

Fury swivelled in his chair and took a pile of files off the credenza behind him, then turned back and set them in the middle of his desk. Phil stared at the pile, which held more files than he remembered, and then glanced at Fury, who looked back levelly. It appeared that he’d been expecting this moment as well.

“Took you longer than I though it would,” Fury said. “So I stacked the deck with Sanchez. Now find me some specialists you can do something with.”

Phil picked up the pile of folders and marched out of Fury’s office without replying. Fury didn’t say a word, but his silence sounded smug. In his office, Phil sat and stared at the files. He couldn’t expect to find another specialist with whom he’d share the same rapport he’d formed with Barton, or one who was as naturally skilled, but that didn’t mean they didn’t deserve more than to be written off out of hand merely because they _weren’t_ Barton.

Phil took the first file off the pile, Margaret Chen, and pulled up the corresponding mission report to review. He pulled over a pad of paper and started making notes as he read, which he’d type up later.

Natasha showed up when Phil was halfway through the pile and found him shaking his head at a particularly troubling file. She took in the piles of folders, the file open before him, the open mission report, and the pad and pen. “What are you doing?”

“Reviewing the specialists we’ve had rotate through,” Phil said. “Trying to come up with constructive comments rather than just criticism.”

“Ahh,” Natasha said.

“What does that mean?”

“I wondered when you’d realize you were punishing them all for not being Clint.”

“I wasn’t doing that,” Phil said, but only half-heartedly. “I had some legitimate complaints.”

Natasha didn’t say anything.

Phil sighed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Would you have believed me?”

Phil didn’t respond, because he didn’t know which answer would be the lie.

“Who put the frown on your face?” Natasha asked as she folded herself into the seat across from Phil.

“Peter Dalton,” Phil said, glancing back at the file. The agent had made a lot of mistakes. Nothing big enough to threaten the mission, but a bunch of little things that added up. “I’m not sure he’s cut out to be a field agent.”

When Phil looked back up at her, Natasha was giving him a look that said she couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured it out yet.

“What?”

“Dalton made those mistakes on purpose,” Natasha said.

“What? Why would he do that?”

“He . . . liked it when you corrected him.”

“What?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “He got off on being reprimanded by you.”

“No,” Phil said.

Natasha just stared at him. Phil thought back on the many small mistakes Dalton had made, and blushed now that he recalled the way Dalton had reacted to being . . . Phil wasn’t even going to think the term ‘disciplined’, except there, he’d gone and done it.

“Oh, dear.”

“Can I be there when you tell him to keep his kinks out of the work place?”

“No,” Phil said. “But you can sneak the camera into Fury’s office and we can both watch while he handles it.” That was followed by a loaded silence. “When I said ‘handle’ . . .”

“Got it,” Natasha said.

~*~

Things went smoother when Phil stopped comparing all the specialists he used to Barton, and he even used a couple of them more than once. Two in particular impressed him. In part because of their willingness to accept his instruction, but more importantly, due to their actions in the field. Chen, especially, because she’d saved Natasha’s life once with a well-placed shot that allowed Natasha to maintain her cover, because she’d shown an ability to adapt in the field when she’d been forced to lady down her sniper rifle and get closer to the action. Phil was not surprised when Agent Helen Lombowski snapped her up and gave Chen a permanent place on her team.

~*~*~*~

Fury laughed his ass off when Phil had to be taken out of the field temporarily because he got knifed when he and Audrey were mugged. The wound hadn’t been life threatening, and wasn’t even that deep. More like a graze, really, even if it had required six stitches. But that wasn’t the point.

Phil glared at Fury, who just laughed harder. “A god damned mugger!” he said, which, Phil was supposed to be a bad ass secret agent, so fair point.

Phil’s more active files, the ones that would need to be acted on within a day or so, were handed off to others to monitor in case they went live while Phil was still out of action. It gave him a free few minutes, and so Phil caught up on Barton’s last handful of missions. What he saw made him angry.

Phil printed out hard copies so he had something to wave under Fury’s nose, and set off for his office. Fury’s door was open and Fury was leaning back in his chair, eyes on the door. It brought Phil up short.

“Why do you look like you were expecting me?”

“Because I was. Shut the door.”

“Why?”

“Privacy.”

“No, I mean, why were you expecting me?”

“Because I get a notification every single time you open up any damn document pertaining to Barton,” Fury said.

“Uh . . . you do?”

“Do you want to know how often I get a notification, Coulson?”

“No, not really.”

“Then shut the damn door so you can tell me what bug crawled up your ass this time,” Fury said.

Phil closed the door. He threw the papers onto Fury’s desk, but it was much less satisfying than he’d thought it would be.

“Barton is not being used to his full potential,” Phil said.

“I know that,” Fury said, taking more of the wind out of Phil’s sails.

“Well, why the hell not?” Phil demanded.

“Because you broke up my best damned team, Coulson, that’s why not!”

“I’m sorry about that,” Phil said, feeling guilty and chastened.

“Sorry enough to put it back together?” Fury said.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Phil said, trying to hide how much that hurt.

“Then what do you suggest?”

“At least put Barton and Romanov back together,” Phil said. “Give them a new handler, maybe Sitwell, or rotate them onto the highest priority ops.”

“They’re not gonna thank you for this, you know,” Fury said.

“That doesn’t matter; it’s what’s best. For them, for SHIELD.”

“What about what’s best for you?”

“That doesn’t matter, either,” Phil said.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

When Fury asked Phil what he wanted to do now that he’d given up working with both Barton and Romanov, Phil put forward the idea of a mobile quick-response team again, which he’d been pitching to Fury on and off for a handful of years now. It was the first time he’d considered himself for the command role, though.

Instead, Fury put Phil in charge of developing new talent, since, “You brought both Hawkeye and Black Widow to heel.”

Phil snorted. “I’d like to hear you tell them that.”

“Get out of my office,” Fury said.

Phil spent the next week reviewing files and meeting with Maria to come up with a strategy. There were a handful of new recruits and Academy graduates that were nearly ready to be placed in the field, but there was also a pile of existing agents who were in danger of washing out, either because of their performance, or their attitude, or both.

Phil decided to start with those to see if there were any he could straighten out. It was worth the effort, he thought, to keep agents you already had rather than needing to recruit and train new agents to fill the ranks. Maria shook her head when she heard Phil’s proposal and saw the choices he’d made for his first team.

“You always did have a soft spot for the misfits,” Maria said, but she signed off on it.

Phil sent out a group e-mail to the five agents he’d chosen. There were others, but these were the ones with the most black marks in their files, the ones closest to being let go. He called them to a meeting set for that afternoon. He had his work cut out for him, and there was no sense in putting anything off until the next day.

Phil set up a schedule and reserved time on the range and training course. He met Sitwell in the cafeteria because he was going to need the fuel reserves for the afternoon ahead, and also he wanted to set up a training exercise. He walked into the briefing room a minute before the scheduled time. All five agents were already there. Instead of talking amongst themselves, or speculating on why they were there, they all sat silent, some with their heads bent over their phones, others staring at the walls.

Phil went to the head of the table and looked over the group – Eddie Miller, Tonia Sanderson, Kenneth Wong, LaToya James, and Ric Alvarez. A few of them regarded him with curiosity, but the others only glanced up when Phil dropped their files onto the table.

“Hello,” Phil said. “I’m Agent Phil Coulson, and these are your files.” Phil watched for their reactions. Some looked worried, others looked sullen. “I can’t forget what I’ve read in them, but what matters to me is what you do next.”

Phil paced in front of the table, and their eyes followed him. “Each of you have gotten marks against you for a variety of reasons. I’m giving you a chance to turn that round. It’s up to you whether you take that chance.”

“And if we don’t?” James said, sounding resentful at having her faults pointed out, or for Phil taking up her time.

“Then SHIELD will offer you a generous severance package and wish you well in your future endeavors,” Phil said, unruffled. “If you agree to join this team, you will be expected to give it one hundred percent.”

“Give what one hundred percent?” Miller asked.

“Being the best SHIELD agent you can be should go unsaid,” Phil said, “but in this case our goal is to turn you into a team.”

“I’m a specialist,” Sanderson said. “I don’t work well with a team.”

“And that is why you’re here, Agent Sanderson,” Phil said. “Not just because you don’t work well with a team, but the notion that you don’t need to.” Phil let his gaze fall on each of them. “That’s why all of you are here.”

Phil let the silence after that comment grow until one of them broke and shifted uncomfortably in their chair. “Does anyone else have any questions?”

“No, sir,” James said.

Sanderson, Miller, and Wong shook their heads.

Phil stared at Alvarez until he said, “No, sir.”

“Does anyone wish to be excused at this time?”

A chorus of ‘no’s met the question, though a few were spoken sulkily. Phil didn’t expect to turn anything around with a pretty speech, but as long as they all decided to stay he could work with them.

“Alright,” Phil said. “I’ve seen your range and hand-to-hand scores, but I want to see how you do for myself. Our first stop is the range.”

Phil left the files sitting on the table (a symbolic gesture only; someone would be by to collect them as soon as they cleared out of the conference room), and walked around the table and out of the room. It took a few seconds before Phil heard a chair scrape across the floor and footsteps following him.

Phil stepped back in the range and let them choose their own weapons and lane. Ear muffs on, Phil walked behind them, gauging everything from their accuracy and stance to their comfort level with the weapon and his scrutiny. Phil made them field strip the gun and reassemble it. Then Phil assigned them a different type of pistol or rifle and moved them to a different lane so they were out of their comfort zone and had them go again.

The next stop was the gym where Phil planned to evaluate their hand-to-hand skills. “James,” he said. “You’re up first. Choose your opponent.”

James stepped out of line and then looked over the remaining four agents. With a gleam in her eye she chose Alvarez. Alvarez looked uncomfortable, but he stepped onto the mat with James.

“Go,” Phil said.

The fight was over quickly – Alvarez appeared reluctant to grapple with James, and she pushed her advantage.

“Why did you choose Alvarez?” Phil said when the match was over.

“Sir?”

“Do you not understand the question?”

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I chose Alvarez because I knew I could beat him.”

Alvarez looked furious, but resigned.

“How did you know you could beat him?”

“I don’t know if it’s misplaced chivalry, or if he’s afraid of getting girl cooties,” James said, making it clear that she thought either reason was ridiculous, “but he won’t fight a woman.”

Phil nodded. He looked at the other three. “Any of you have trouble fighting a woman?”

“No, sir!” they said, almost in unison.

“Good,” Phil said. “One of you is up next.”

There was a moment of confused silence before Wong spoke up. “Uh, which one of us, sir?”

“The three of you decide,” Phil said. At their stunned expressions he added, “You have thirty seconds to discuss it before James wins by default. Starting now.” Phil pressed the timer on his watch.

Wong, Miller, and Sanderson put their heads together and spoke quickly and over each other. Finally Wong emerged from the group and joined James on the mat. The sparred for longer than the previous bout, and Phil winced internally when a couple blows landed hard, but finally Wong got James on the mat.

“What was your secret?” Phil asked Wong.

Panting, Wong said, “Her left leg is weak.”

James’ expression looked angry that Wong had sussed out her weakness, though she’d done the same to beat Alvarez. Phil had known about the injury to James’ left leg that left her weak on that side. It was something they’d work on.

“Alright, James, Wong, and Alvarez against Miller and Sanderson,” Phil said.

Everyone looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. When no one moved, Phil said, “What are you waiting for?”

James and Wong were winded, and they had the disadvantage of having the other team knowing about James’ and Alvarez’s weaknesses. Phil crossed his arms over his chest and watched to see how they protected themselves, and how Miller and Sanderson took advantage. He gave his head a mental shake when they let Sanderson go after Alvarez, and Wong didn’t help protect James’ weak side and she went down with a well-placed kick to the leg. After that, Wong was double-teamed and taken out pretty easily despite Sanderson and Miller disagreeing over who got the take-down.

Phil handed out water bottles and towels and said, “Let’s get something to eat.”

He headed out, and once again it took the others a few seconds to follow. There was already a table set up for the six of them, thanks to Sitwell, and Phil pointed it out before he went to get a tray. He saw at least one of the team roll their eyes, but if the others did they at least were smart enough to wait until he’d turned his back.

Phil wasn’t used to eating this early, so he didn’t get anything heavy. He began eating instead of waiting for the others because this was going to be a working dinner and he didn’t want his food getting cold. Phil let the others eat in peace for a few minutes, but then he wiped his mouth with a napkin, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Sanderson, Miller, how did you approach the spar back there?”

“James said that Alvarez didn’t like to fight women, so I went for him,” Sanderson said.

“And I went for James’ weak side,” Miller said.

“How could you three have prevented that?”

“Wong or I should’ve taken Sanderson,” James said.

“What else?” Phil said.

“It was three against two,” Alvarez said, “so one of us should’ve given James support on her left.”

“I don’t need no special treatment,” James said.

“Would it be special treatment to make sure you don’t lose Alvarez before the fight’s even begun? Each of us have things we do really well, and things that we’re not so good at. That’s why you have a team, so we can fill in all our cracks.”

“What’s your weakness, sir?” Wong said.

Phil gave him a look, then said, “That’s classified.”

Someone, Phil thought it was Sanderson, snickered.

Phil stood and picked up his tray. “Finish your meals, and then meet me at the basketball courts in twenty.”

Phil left them groaning behind him. Sitwell met him at the door.

“That was mean.”

“That was nothing compared to what’s coming next.”

~*~

Phil was shooting baskets when his new team showed up. He didn’t bother checking his watch; he knew they’d cut it as close as they could without being late. Phil snagged his rebound and shot it again before turning to the others. “Grab a ball and do some warm ups,” he said.

They exchanged confused looks.

“Lay-ups, foul shots, HORSE,” Phil said. He stepped off the court and rebuttoned his jacket before leaning against the wall and watching. It took them a few seconds to get with the program, but finally Sanderson stepped forward and picked up a ball that had rolled near them and shot it. She missed, but it broke the ice and the others picked up balls and, with varying degrees of skill, began to shoot towards the basket. They each did their own thing, and no one suggested they play HORSE, even though Phil had thrown the idea out there.

About ten minutes later, Sitwell appeared in the doorway. He looked at Phil, who nodded, and then gave a signal to someone behind him before walking around the end of the basketball court and coming to a stop beside Phil. He leaned against the wall so their shoulders nearly brushed.

“How are they doing?”

“Abysmally,” Phil said. “Even when given the opportunity to do something as a team, they choose to remain separate.”

“Well,” Sitwell said. “They can only get better, right?”

“Now you’ve gone and jinxed it,” Phil said.

They stopped talking when they heard voices in the hallway. The five agents Sitwell had recruited for this training exercise entered. They were laughing and talking, and they all ignored Phil’s team, aside from a nod of greeting as they moved to the neighboring court. They grabbed a couple balls off the rack and began a few warm-up exercises that were more structured than those Phil’s team were doing.

Phil was barely paying attention, though, because Barton was one of Sitwell’s recruits and he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Clint since he’d stepped into the room.

“You’re welcome,” Sitwell said.

“You’re an asshole and I will pay you back for this,” Phil replied.

“I like that banana bread you made one year,” Sitwell suggested.

“Not with food,” Phil said, eyes still drinking in the sight of Clint. “I was thinking more along the lines of tacks on your chair, or itching powder in your shaving cream.”

“And here I thought you were more original than that.”

Before Phil could respond to that, one of the agents on Sitwell’s team approached the court where Phil’s team was still shooting baskets. Marla Winston, Phil thought her name was.

“Hey, you guys wanna play a game?” Winston called to Phil’s team.

They all stopped what they were doing, milled about like confused little ducklings, and all looked over to Phil for guidance. Phil nodded the okay, and Wong agreed for the whole team.

While they were racking the extra balls to clear the court, Phil said, “Did he know I’d be here?”

“Would I send him in here without giving him a heads up?” Sitwell said.

“You didn’t give me a heads up,” Phil said.

“Because you’re the asshole in this situation and you didn’t deserve one,” Sitwell said without heat. “And don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying the view.”

Phil really was, and he couldn’t help taking another look at Clint in his sleeveless t-shirt and basketball shorts that clung lovingly to his ass.

The game started, and the next twenty minutes could only be described as a massacre. Phil was glad he’d requested the training session be recorded, since he was paying more attention to Clint than to how his team was playing. Which was piss poorly. If this didn’t highlight just how bad they were at being team players, nothing would.

The game ended as suddenly as it had begun, with Sitwell’s team thanking Phil’s team for the game before heading to the locker room. Clint glanced over at Phil as he walked off the court. Phil couldn’t read the shuttered expression on Clint’s face, and he didn’t know what Clint saw on his, but he felt an ache in his chest when Clint looked away and left the room with the others.

When Phil pulled his eyes away from the doorway Clint had disappeared through, he found Sitwell staring at him. “What?”

“Jesus, you don’t even know, do you?” Sitwell shook his head. “You really are a sad sack.” Sitwell left with a, “Good luck with them.”

Phil turned to his team. “How did that go?”

“They wiped the floor with us,” Miller said.

“Yes, they did. At least you recognize it. We’ll meet again in the briefing room tomorrow morning, oh eight hundred. Get some rest tonight; you’re gonna need it.”

Phil didn’t bother returning to his office. The video file would be waiting in his in-box in the morning and he’d have time before the meeting to review it. Right now he was a little shaken from seeing Clint again so unexpectedly. He made his way to the parking garage and drove to his apartment in a bit of a haze. He changed out of his suit and fixed himself a drink and tried to watch Dog Cops. (Super Nanny reminded him too much of Clint.)

Phil found himself drifting back to the training exercise, the muscles in Clint’s arms when he took a shot, the way he moved on the court, hair darker where it was damp from sweat. Before he knew what he was doing, Phil had a hand down his sweat pants and he brought himself off to the images of Clint from earlier that evening. He came hard when he remembered how Clint had looked at him just before he’d left.

Phil cleaned himself up and got ready for bed. He fell asleep that night without once thinking about Audrey.

~*~

Phil winced as he watched the recording for the first time the next morning. It was worse than he’d thought, and Sitwell’s team had even been taking it easy on them – leaving lanes open and playing a loose defense. They’d flubbed as many shots as they made, but it made Phil’s team look even worse in comparison.

Phil watched the exercise a second time and took notes, then went down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee before the meeting. He was going to need it. Phil saw Clint sitting at one of the tables when he walked in. While he filled a take-out cup and fixed it, Phil thought about going over and thanking Clint for helping him out with the training exercise last night, but when he turned around Clint was already gone.

Phil told himself that it was just as well, but he left the cafeteria with an ache in his chest he couldn’t define. Phil didn’t even get any satisfaction out of showing his team the recording of the training exercise and watching their reactions to it.

When Phil asked what went wrong they were each quick to point out another’s fault – one was a ball hog and never passed the ball even when someone else was wide open (and Clint’s, Sitwell’s team had given them a lot of opportunities), one couldn’t catch the ball, one couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with it – but when Phil asked them to mention something they’d done wrong personally, they were silent.

“Homework tonight,” Phil said, ignoring their groans. “List one thing you did wrong and come up with a way to fix it, and list one thing you did right and tell me how you can get better at it.”

“What does this have to do with our jobs?” James grumbled.

“You need to know your own strengths and weaknesses, as well as those of your teammates. Better you learn how to evaluate them on the basketball court than in the field when someone is firing at you with live ammo.”

They spent the morning on the practice course so Phil could see how they did with moving targets. They went to lunch and sat together at the same table as the day before. This wasn’t a working meal so Phil ate in silence to allow the others talk amongst themselves, but they remained silent, too.

When he finished eating, Phil said, “Thirteen hundred on the mats,” and then went to find Sitwell and complain about how damned good each of his team were individually, if only they could translate that into team work.

In the gym, Phil called on Sanderson and told her to choose her opponent. She looked the rest of the team over. “Is it cheating if I choose Alvarez?”

“In the field you need to know your enemy’s weakness so you can take advantage of it. Here I’m trying to evaluate how good you are and help you get better, so what do you think?”

Sanderson sighed and chose Wong.

“Why?” Phil asked.

“Because he was scrappy,” Sanderson said with a grin.

“I’ll show you scrappy,” Wong said as he stepped forward.

Phil bit back a smile. When their match was over (Wong had indeed been ‘scrappy’, but Sanderson wasn’t above fighting dirty, something Phil would have to remember), he let Miller choose his opponent.

“Alvarez.”

“Why?”

“Because we didn’t get to see what he could do against someone he wasn’t afraid to touch,” Miller said.

Turned out that Alvarez was pretty damned good. Which made it frustrating that he was useless against a female opponent. Phil wondered how he’d made it to a Level 3 without anyone having noticed.

“Take a break,” Phil said after everyone had a chance on the mat. “Get something to drink.”

He waited until everyone had a bottle of water and had taken a drink before calling Alvarez to the side. “Why can’t you fight a woman?” Phil said.

“Hitting a woman in anger is disrespectful,” Alvarez said. “My mama drilled that into me.”

“Are you angry with James or Sanderson right now?”

Alvarez frowned. “No.”

“I would suggest that there’s a difference between sparring for practice and hitting a woman in anger. Think about that,” Phil said. “What about in the field? Could you hit a woman if she’s trying to kill you?”

Alvarez went red, but he said, “Yes. If it’s life or death, or in service of the mission I have no problem shutting that part of my brain off.”

“Good,” Phil said. “I would also posit that your female teammates might feel like you’re disrespecting them by not treating them as an equal.”

Phil stepped away from Alvarez and addressed the team. “You’ve got about forty-five minutes to take a break, get cleaned up. You’ve got a class at fifteen hundred in our usual briefing room.”

“A class?” Wong said.

“‘The Psychology of Working as a Team’,” Phil quoted.

“Are you kidding me?” James muttered.

“After your class we’ll meet in the cafeteria for dinner,” Phil went on as if he hadn’t heard.

“Are we going to be doing everything as a team from now on?” Miller said.

“Do you need someone to hold your hand when you go to the bathroom, Miller?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you may continue to do that on your own,” Phil said. “I’ll see you all later.”

Phil heard some snickers behind him and Miller’s, “Assholes.” It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

~*~*~*~

The next morning on the mats Phil paired James and Wong, Sanderson and Miller, and then himself with Alvarez.

“Sir?” Alvarez said.

“Do you think I made it to Level 8 without being able to hold my own in hand-to-hand?” Phil said.

“No?”Alvarez said.

Alvarez was good, but he was afraid of hurting his team leader, and Phil used that against him. He switched up the pairings again – James against Sanderson, Miller against Alvarez, and himself against Wong.

When it was his turn, Phil said to Wong, “You were pretty scrappy yesterday.”

“You’re asking for it, sir,” Wong said.

Phil wiggled his fingers in the universal ‘bring it’ gesture.

~*~

Phil went to the range while his team was in another class, and then he met them for lunch. After lunch Phil led them to the paint ball court in the lower levels. There were already people there playing. Phil set his team loose, and then went to the control booth to watch their progress.

When Phil met them at the door after their hour was up, Miller and James were arguing. “What’s the problem?” Phil said.

“She _shot_ me!” Miller said.

“That’s the point of the game,” James said.

“We’re supposed to be a _team_ ,” Miller said, then looked at Phil. “Aren’t we? I mean, wasn’t that the point, another training exercise to turn us into team players?”

“Yes,” Phil said, “and no.” He pointed to Miller. “You think you’re a team only because I said you have to be. You . . .” He pointed at James. “. . . still think ‘individual’ first, rather than ‘team’. What I want is for you all to walk in there and think ‘us against them’ because it’s become second nature for you to do so, not because I told you to act like a team.” He shrugged. “It’s a work in progress.”

~*~

The next morning Phil paired James and Miller, Sanderson and Wong, but when Alvarez’s turn was up, Romanov stepped into the room.

“I should warn you,” Phil said to Alvarez. “She could kill you with her pinky.” He glanced at Natasha. “You’re not gonna kill him, though, right?”

“Nah,” Natasha said. “I’m just gonna hurt him. A lot.”

Alvarez’s eyes went wide, and he glanced to Phil for help.

“Life or death,” Phil reminded him.

Natasha went at Alvarez with a flurry of strikes that he tripped over his feet trying to avoid. Natasha didn’t wait for him to recover, instead she swung her leg across the floor and kicked his legs out from under him while he was still off-balance. Alvarez looked like he expected her to finish the fight, but Natasha backed off and waited for him to get to his feet. As soon as he did, she hit him with some more jabs. Even Alvarez could tell that she was playing with him, but he didn’t start really fighting back until Natasha goaded him with, “Come into my parlor . . .”

Alvarez took a couple shots, but he actually got a blow in. Phil said, “That’s it, Alvarez. Fight back. I’d hate for Widow to leave you as nothing but a smear on the mat. I’d have to find someone to fill your spot on the team.”

After that, the others started exhorting Alvarez on, cheering when he pulled off a good move. Natasha still wiped the floor with him, but Alvarez gave a better showing with his teammates egging him on.

Phil called the match.

“I was just getting warmed up, Coulson,” Natasha said.

Phil tilted his head. “Go find Barton and beat the snot out of him.”

Natasha grinned. “I’ll tell him you said so, sir.”

Phil’s ears went hot at that. He didn’t doubt that Natasha noticed, but she thankfully left without mentioning it. He turned back to Alvarez, who was panting and sweating, and drinking out of a bottle of water one of his teammates had gotten for him.

“I’m glad to see that you can bond over watching one of your teammates getting beaten up,” Phil said.

“Beaten up by the Black Widow,” James clarified.

“How long was that?” Alvarez said.

“Ten minutes,” Phil said.

“Ten minutes?” Alvarez repeated in disbelief. “It felt like a hell of a lot longer.”

“It’s going to feel even longer when she stops holding back,” Phil pointed out.

“She was holding back?” Sanderson said.

“Is Alvarez in medical?”

“No,” Miller said.

“Then she was holding back.”

“Wait,” Alvarez said. “What do you mean, going to? Is this going to happen again?”

“Are you ready to hold your own in a fight against James or Sanderson?”

Alvarez eyed the two female agents warily.

“Until you are, until you realize that these people are SHIELD agents first, and woman second, then it’s going to happen again. If you need to feel like your life is in danger before you’ll hit a girl, then the Black Widow it is.”

“I’m going to tell Natasha you called her a girl, sir,” Barton said.

Phil hoped he didn’t look as surprised by Barton’s appearance as he felt. “Barton, what are you doing here?”

“Hiding from Natasha. She already beat me up once this week.”

“You don’t think she’ll think to look for you here?” Phil said.

Clint gave Phil a long look that he couldn’t decipher, then said, “No.”

Right, Phil thought. Because Barton had been avoiding him like the plague for the last few months. And yet, here he was.

Barton tilted his head as if he was listening, then said, “Gotta run,” before he did just that.

Phil’s head turned back to his team as if his stomach wasn’t still fluttering from Clint’s presence, and said, “Get cleaned up and meet me in the cafeteria.”

“Another bonding experience over lunch?” Miller said, exasperated.

“Something like that,” Phil said.

An ice cream sundae bar was waiting for the team when they arrived at the cafeteria.

“It’s nearly lunch time,” James pointed out as she stared at the variety of ice cream and toppings.

“Live a little, Agent James,” Phil said. “Have dessert first.”

“Is that an order, sir?”

“Of course not,” Phil said. “Ice cream shouldn’t have to be an order. But if it’s not to your liking, our lovely cafeteria staff have also provided us with cupcakes.”

“Can we have both?” said Sanderson, who was already scooping ice cream into a bowl.

“Knock yourself out,” Phil said.

Phil waited until the others had served themselves (Sanderson wasn’t the only one indulging in both ice cream and cupcakes), and then scooped some strawberry ice cream into a bowl and topped it with sliced bananas and hot fudge. Phil joined the others at their table. He managed to neither cry nor gush too much when they asked him to confirm rumors they’d heard around about Barton and Romanov. Yes, Barton had jumped off a crumbling building more than once, no, Romanov wasn’t secretly Director Fury, yes, Clint was better with a bow than anyone at SHIELD was with a rifle, yes, one captured AIM agent had given up the location of their secret base when Natasha had smiled at him.

“Wouldn’t you?” Alvarez said, and the others agreed.

“I need to speak with Agent Sitwell,” Phil said, “so I’ll leave you to enjoy your lunch.”

“We’re supposed to eat lunch now?” Wong said.

“Man cannot live by ice cream alone,” Phil said.

“Which is why I had cupcakes, too,” Miller said, and everyone laughed.

Phil waited until he’d turned his back to smile. They weren’t quite a team yet, but at least they wouldn’t rather have their teeth pulled as spend any time together. Phil disposed of his empty bowl and got a cup of coffee before joining Sitwell.

~*~*~*~

After two weeks of near-constant togetherness, Phil set up a schedule of training that kept some of the team together while allowing them to each do different things – Alvarez and Miller sparring while James, Sanderson and Wong went to the range, or James and Miller in the weight room while Sanderson, Alvarez, and Wong shot moving targets in the practice course. Somehow everyone’s schedule was clear when Alvarez and Natasha sparred. There were ‘fun’ days scheduled for the paint ball field and mandatory team lunches. Phil watched them begin to coalesce into a team.

Phil refused to think of their first mission as a team as a milk run because that was certain to jinx them, but it was supposed to be a simple matter of meeting a reliable confidential informant Phil only knew as Bluebird, who was passing on some information. There was absolutely no need for all five of them, but Phil wanted them to get used to acting like a team.

Phil treated it like a training op so they could have the full experience of planning the mission from the ground up. They studied the blueprints for the hotel where they were meeting the CI, as well as the grounds and nearby buildings. They set up the op as if they were going in to steal the information, rather than just retrieve it.

Their planning came in handy when Phil and James entered the hotel room they’d reserved for the transfer and found it ransacked, with Bluebird lying in the middle of the floor, a bullet hole in the center of her forehead. Phil only had time to notice the small hole in the window before James dragged him down to the floor. Another bullet passed through the air where Phil’s head had just been.

“Sniper,” Phil said into his comms as he rolled to his feet and moved towards the bank of windows while staying out of sight. “Probably on the lake.”

“I see him,” Alvarez said. “Shit. Unfortunately, he’s seen me, too.”

Phil heard the bullet ping off of the refrigeration unit on the roof where Alvarez had made his nest.

“I’ve got eyes on the shooter; he’s not looking my way,” Sanderson reported from the roof of a neighboring building.

“Take the shot,” Phil said. “Eyes on backup?”

“Not in here,” Miller said from the hotel restaurant.

“Nothing odd here,” Wong said from a seat in the lobby.

“Shooter down,” Sanderson reported.

Phil glanced over at James, who was checking the body. “Does she still have the information on her?” he said, though given the state of the room he didn’t have high hopes.

James finished checking through pockets and said, “No.” She pulled on a rubber glove and felt around inside Bluebird’s mouth. “Nothing.”

Sanderson pulled the glove off so the fingers were tucked inside and shoved it into her pocket so they didn’t leave any evidence behind.

“Alvarez, maintain position so we have eyes up high; Sanderson and Wong, secure the shooter and his boat.” They needed to find out whether someone was trying to silence their CI, or if they were looking to procure the same information themselves.

“Miller, move to the lobby, let us know if we get company,” Phil continued as he searched the room in case Bluebird _had_ managed to hide the information before she was shot, and whoever had ransacked the room had somehow missed finding it. He and James both ran to the window when an explosion rocked the building and shattered glass. The boat from which the sniper had shot at them was a mess of black smoke and flames, slivers of wood floating in the lake.

Phil swore softly. Taking possession of a boat and searching it would’ve been easier than insinuating themselves into a local investigation when the people investigating didn’t know what they needed to be looking for. Once they found the sniper rifle, they’d start looking for a possible victim. They needed to be out of there before then.

Luckily, the explosion having blown out windows, no one would blink at seeing someone removed on a stretcher. “Plan G,” Phil said. “Sanderson, Wong, get our ride.”

James was giving him the wide-eyed ‘who skips plans B through F?’ look. Phil ignored it. “Keep searching.” They needed to find whatever information their CI might’ve left behind.

They’d torn the room apart by the time Sanderson and Wong arrived with a gurney and dressed in EMT uniforms. They hadn’t found a flash drive or memory card, but Phil had found the second bullet and dug it out of the wall.

Sanderson and Wong loaded the body onto the gurney and wrapped gauze around her head to cover the hole in her forehead. Phil looked around the room one last time before snapping off his gloves and shoving them into a pocket, and following the others out of the room.

There was enough confusion in the lobby that no one stopped them or even looked at them twice. Phil had a thought and stopped by the reception desk, which was going crazy. When he got someone’s attention he asked if there were any messages for room 812, and a harried receptionist handed him an envelope.

Phil thanked her, then tucked the envelope away in his pocket. Outside the hotel he climbed into the back of the ambulance with the others and they took off.

“No one on your tail,” Alvarez reported from the rooftop.

“Good. Miller?”

“No one seems to be paying particular attention to you guys,” Miller said from the lobby.

“Both of you get out of there,” Phil said. “Get the van and meet us at the rendevous point.”

Only then did Phil pull out the envelope and open it. As he’d suspected from the feel of the envelope, it was the memory card they’d been searching for. Bluebird had known she was being followed. That didn’t bode well.

“Watch your six,” Phil said. “They’ll still be looking for this.”

Phil reported back to the operations center at SHIELD HQ that the mission had been blown; Bluebird’s cover had been blown and they had walked into a trap.

“Do you have the package?” Agent Carla Williams asked.

Phil glanced at the memory card. “I believe so. I haven’t been able to confirm.”

“Do so now,” Williams ordered. “Your eyes only.”

Phil took out his tablet and inserted the memory card, which contained a video file. “The memory card contains a video file,” Phil reported.

“Open it. Pause the video at the five second mark.”

Phil opened the video. At five seconds he hit pause. Frozen on the screen was an ID badge for Schmidt Pharmaceuticals. When Phil passed on that information, Williams said, “Protect the package at all costs.”

“Acknowledged,” Phil said, then addressed Wong, “What’s our ETA to the . . . ?”

Phil’s question was cut off by the screech of metal as something rammed into the side of the ambulance. Everything tilted and the sound of voices raised in excitement filled his ears. Moments later there were gunshots and the tinkle of broken glass.

“Report!” Phil snapped as he righted himself, and then reached out to help James, who’d gotten trapped beneath the tipped gurney.

“It was a garbage truck,” Sanderson said breathlessly. “The way ahead is blocked by two SUVs.”

Phil could hear the gunfire in stereo.

“Plus there are two more SUVs approaching your six,” Alvarez reported.

“Sanderson, Wong, status?”

“We’re getting shot at. Sir,” Sanderson said.

“They’ve got bigger guns than we do. And they’re wearing body armor,” Wong added.

Which they weren’t, because this was supposed to be a simple hand-off.

Phil lifted the gurney and James twisted out from under it. She was on her knees when there was the sound of someone trying to open the back doors of the ambulance. Phil pulled his weapon and aimed it at the doors. He noticed blood on the back of James’ hand when she drew her own weapon. There was a thud at the back door and Alvarez said, “Uh, I think backup’s here.”

“We’re coming to you,” Miller said.

Phil didn’t lower his gun until the doors opened and he could see Miller standing in the opening with Alvarez covering him.

“Everyone alright back here?” Miller said.

“Yes,” James said, but it was more of a snarl.

Phil nodded.

“Yeah, we’re fine, too,” Sanderson said. “A little help wouldn’t . . . .”

A large explosion rocked the ambulance, and Phil reached up to the side, which was at an angle over his head, for support.

“. . . go amiss,” Sanderson finished. “One SUV, toast,” she reported.

“Literally,” Wong said, and Sanderson snorted a laugh.

Phil pushed past James and Miller to step out of the ambulance, weapon held out in front of him. He ignored the arrow sticking out of the body on the ground as he stepped over it while scanning the area around them. Phil fired the moment he saw movement behind their van, stopping only to eject the empty magazine and slide another one home.

When all of the men and women who’d been sent after them were on the ground, most unmoving, a few writhing in pain, Phil holstered his weapon. “Can we get the van out of here?”

They still needed to get to the jet and back to New York with the memory card.

“We’re your ride now,” Natasha said as she came around the ambulance.

Phil wasn’t all that surprised to hear her voice after seeing the arrow. “Widow,” Phil greeted her. “Was that explosion you?”

“Hawkeye has some new explosive tip arrows he wanted to play with,” Natasha said.

“I’m thankful he didn’t use one of them on this guy.” Phil indicated the man who’d been attempting to gain entry to the ambulance. Natasha leaned down and pulled the arrow out of the guy’s neck.

“How’d you get stuck with backup duty?” Phil said.

“We were in the area,” Barton said as he appeared around the side of the ambulance. “Ride’s leaving. Fury wants your asses back in New York. Clean-up’s been dispatched; they’ll take care of this.”

“Let’s see if we can keep at least one of them alive for interrogation,” Phil said. He stepped back inside the ambulance and found his tablet. The screen had been cracked, but the memory card should’ve been protected inside it.

Barton and half of Phil’s team were gone when he reemerged from the ambulance. Natasha was waiting with the others and led them to the jet. Barton was already in the pilot seat when Phil walked up the ramp.

“Buckle your seatbelts, kiddies,” Barton said as the ramp closed behind them and the jet lifted off.

Phil checked his team for injuries – Wong and Sanderson had cuts from broken glass, James had sliced her arm on something when the ambulance tipped, Miller had been grazed by a bullet, and Alvarez had a laceration where the bullet had ricocheted and a piece of the roof had embedded itself in his leg. Luckily, none of the injuries were serious and could wait until they were back in New York to be treated by Medical.

“What about you?” Natasha said.

“What about me?”

Natasha pressed a piece of gauze to a gash on the side of Phil’s head. He hissed at the pressure, but bit back the petulant ‘ow!’ that wanted out. He must’ve hit his head when the ambulance was rammed, though he didn’t remember doing so. Phil reached up to hold the gauze, but Natasha slapped his hand away.

While Natasha was otherwise occupied, Alvarez snuck into the cockpit with Barton. When she was satisfied that Phil wasn’t going to bleed out, or pass out, Natasha allowed Phil to check in with ops. Williams instructed Phil to upload the contents of the memory card to a secure SHIELD server to which she gave him the password.

Fury was waiting for them when the jet landed at HQ. He took the memory card Phil handed him and glanced at the bandage on Phil’s head. “Get that taken care of, then come to my office.”

Phil left Clint and Natasha shutting down the jet and ushered his team to Medical where they could get looked at, and hopefully released for a well-deserved couple of days off. He didn’t think he’d see Barton again, but after he’d checked up on each member of his team, he ran into Clint in the hallway.

Barton was trying to escape while a nurse told him to at least take aspirin. She gave Phil a look of frustration that had been aimed at him on a regular basis once up on a time.

“You’re hurt,” Phil said.

Clint shrugged. “Not from your op,” he said.

“From the op that just happened to have you in the area?” Phil said.

Barton gave him a look. “Yeah.”

Phil shook his head. Clint hadn’t even tried to sell that one. “You didn’t have to,” Phil said, “but I appreciate the assist.”

“Save,” Barton said.

“Excuse me?”

“You got your sports metaphors wrong,” Barton said. “That was a save, not an assist. But you’re welcome.”

Natasha came by to collect Clint and they both walked away before Phil could formulate a response. Natasha gave him a look over her shoulder that he couldn’t decipher. Phil put it out of his head and made his way to Fury’s office.

The outer office was empty, and the door to the inner sanctum was closed. Maria opened the door at Phil’s knock, then closed it behind him. Fury paused the video they’d been watching and leaned back in his chair. “You watch this?”

Phil shook his head. “Just enough for ops to make sure it was what we were after.”

“Ops has been going over the recording since you uploaded it. We think it might be big,” Maria said.

“Bigger than usual?” Phil said.

Nick and Maria shared a look.

“What?”

“This particular CI has been sending us out-dated or incorrect information. Things that HYDRA wanted us to see. We knew they were playing us, but we’d use the information, send out some teams to follow up. We played the game because we’ve been waiting for something just like this.” Fury gestured towards the screen where the image from the video was frozen. “We knew it had to be big the moment you reported that Bluebird had been killed. This time she found something they didn’t want us to see. We needed that memory card.”

“Is that why you sent Barton and Romanov for back-up?” Phil said.

Maria snorted.

“ _Sent_?” Fury said.

Maria said, “Barton and Romanov took a detour on the way back to New York after experiencing communication difficulties.”

“What?” Phil said.

Both Nick and Maria gave him a look.

Instead of thinking about what that look meant, Phil said, “What’s in the video?”

Fury hit play, but not before he silently told Phil that he knew what he was doing. Phil watched the video as the camera scanned the room. “It looks like a laboratory.”

“Keep watching,” Maria said.

The image flickered, and then showed what might be a hospital room, but not the warm and fuzzy kind. There was monitoring equipment and what appeared to be an operating table. The screen went dark when the recording ended.

“What does it mean?”

“We think that HYDRA is trying to replicate the Super Soldier Serum,” Fury said.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Phil was included in the meetings to discuss what was found on the video, what it might mean, and what they were going to do about it. Fury had given Phil an incredulous look when he’d asked to bring his team in on the information.

“You’re not on the A-Team anymore, Coulson. Hell, you’re not even on the B-Team. Your team is not cleared to know what is on that memory card, you got me?”

“Who is cleared?” Phil pushed.

“The handful of people working on it, and the three people inside this room. You got a problem with that, take it up with Hill.”

Maria looked surprised by that, then annoyed. “Sir.”

“Hill is going to sit in on your debrief. This op’s just getting started, so we need every detail.”

Their plan hadn’t been subtle, Phil thought now as the agents in the room discussed how they could find out whether HYDRA was trying to perfect the super soldier serum (or, god forbid, _had_ perfected it), and how they could get it. HYDRA could’ve taken out Bluebird – Phil still didn’t know the CI’s real name – at anytime before the scheduled meeting and made it look like an accident. Instead they’d waited to take her out at the meet with a sniper, and attempted to take out Phil and James, as well. They’d blown up the boat once their sniper had been taken out, presumably so SHIELD wouldn’t be able to recover anything, and they’d engaged in a shoot-out in the street in broad daylight. From all appearances, they’d been very determined to keep that memory card out of SHIELD’s hands.

From all appearances.

“Was there anything else on that memory card?” Phil said. In the silence that followed he realized he’d interrupted Agent Charles Dodson. “Sorry,” he said, just as Maria said, “You saw what was on the memory card, you uploaded the contents to the server.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I might have missed something that a coder would catch.”

“Like what, Coulson?” Fury demanded.

“A program, a virus,” Phil posited.

That elicited some excited murmurs.

“Our computers haven’t been compromised,” Agent Hillary Bennett said.

“How do you know that?” Fury said.

“We have security,” Bennett said. “If files were being deleted or corrupted, we’d be alerted.”

“What if it was just passively observing?” Phil said.

“Where is this coming from, Coulson?” Fury said.

“It just . . . Director, it feels like they let us get away with this information,” Phil said.

“Let us? They lost a dozen agents trying to get that memory card back,” Maria pointed out.

“You don’t think HYDRA would _sacrifice_ a dozen men, two dozen men, to get information on Dr. Erskine’s serum?” Phil said.

“We don’t have Erskine’s formula,” Maria said.

“They don’t know that.”

“So you think HYDRA planted a bug in our computer system to look for Erskine’s formula,” Fury said.

“Yes,” Phil said. “And while they’re in there, they’re finding out everything – on-going missions, undercover agents, families . . . .”

“Examine that memory card six ways from Sunday,” Fury said. “If HYDRA snuck a virus into SHIELD’s computers, I want to know about it.”

To Phil and Maria, Fury said, “All mission plans continue. If someone _is_ watching, we don’t want to alert them that we suspect. Put all undercover operatives on Code Orange.”

Maria nodded. “Yes, sir.” She turned on her heel and went off to carry out Fury’s orders.

Fury gave Phil a long look. “My office. I want to know where this is coming from. The rest of you, keep working on this video just in case Coulson’s wrong and HYDRA is creating their own super soldier.”

Phil followed Fury through the corridors and tried to organize his thoughts into a coherent explanation. When Fury closed the door behind them, Phil began speaking. He laid out his thought process, how everything had worked out too perfectly. 

“If they really hadn’t wanted that memory card in SHIELD’s hands, they would have taken out Bluebird before the meet. Instead they had time to set up an elaborate scheme with a sniper. Or they would’ve made sure the memory card never got back to New York by using a missile, blowing up both the ambulance and the van, destroyed any trace of it.

“As it is, the video gives us nothing. A lab and an exam room,” Phil said. “We’re guessing what it means, and putting all our resources into following up on it. But you said yourself that they’ve known about Bluebird and have been feeding us bad intel. What if this is more of the same?”

“And we fell for it because they made it look like this time they didn’t want us to have it,” Fury said.

“They made it look good,” Phil allowed.

“And now they’re rifling through my computer system. Fucking HYDRA.”

~*~

Phil had made sure his team got a couple days off after the mission, and he set up a schedule for the days following that, but otherwise he’d been ignoring them. After his closed-door meeting with Fury, Phil went looking for them in the cafeteria.

“Sir,” Wong said when he caught sight of Phil.

Phil gave everyone at the table a nod to hide just how pleased he was that they were continuing to sit together during lunch even when he wasn’t there to ensure it.

“You’ve got a free hour after lunch,” Phil informed them. “Then you’re to all meet me on the mats.”

“I thought we had to meet with Psych to clear us after the last mission,” Miller said.

“You still do,” Phil said. “I’ll reschedule it. You’ll find a revised schedule on your phones.”

Phil turned to leave, but Sanderson stopped him. “It’s good to have you back, sir.”

Phil bit back a smile. “Let me know if you feel the same way after this afternoon.” He grabbed a piece of pie and a cup of coffee, and headed for his office. Phil felt like he hadn’t been there in ages. In the hall he passed Natasha.

“What’s up, Coulson?”

Phil raised an eyebrow.

“You’re whistling.”

“I’m in a good mood,” Phil said.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, but she let it go.

Phil called Psych to reschedule, and then revised the team schedule for that afternoon and tomorrow. After he’d sent it off, Phil took a moment to enjoy the pie and coffee. He checked his own e-mail just in case Fury had tried to contact him, then disposed of his trash. Phil found himself whistling once more as he headed for the locker room.

“You’re whistling,” Barton said.

Phil nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the voice behind him. “A little warning next time, Barton,” he said, trying to slow his heart.

“Why are you whistling?” Barton said suspiciously.

“What is it with you and Romanov?” Phil said. “Can’t I just be in a good mood?”

“That’s not your ‘good mood’ whistle, that’s your ‘gonna ream someone a new asshole’ whistle.”

Phil found himself smiling. “There’s a difference?”

Barton backed up. “Now you’re scaring me, sir.”

Phil let his smile widen, and then he turned his back and started whistling again. He changed into tactical gear, carefully hanging his suit in the locker. When he looked around, Barton was gone. Phil told himself it didn’t matter.

Natasha was in the gym, using one of the mats to do yoga when Phil arrived. He nodded at her, then began doing warm-up stretches. When his team arrived, mostly together, they all stood and stared at him.

“Don’t the rest of you have some stretching to do?” Phil said, which got everyone spread out on the mat, though they all kept one wary eye on him.

Phil stepped over to Natasha while his team stretched. “What are you really doing here?”

Natasha gave Phil a wide-eyed innocent look he hadn’t bought since the first time she short-sheeted his bed on a mission and very convincingly blamed it on Barton. “Maybe I just wanted to see how the baby agents are coming along.”

“They’re Level 3s,” Phil said. “And you’ve seen them spar.”

“Not against you,” Natasha said. “Not when you meant business.”

“I always mean business,” Phil said. “What gave it away?”

“The whistling,” Natasha said. “Nothing puts you in a better mood than showing someone they’ve underestimated you.”

“I’ve been in meetings with Fury; I just needed to blow off some steam,” Phil said.

“The showing off is just a bonus, then,” Natasha said.

“I don’t show off,” Phil said. “I leave that to Barton.”

“Aww, sir, you noticed,” Barton said from behind him.

Phil smelled the popcorn before he turned. He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Natasha said, taking one of the bottled waters Clint carried.

“I also might’ve told Sitwell,” Natasha added as they made themselves comfortable against the wall, the blow of popcorn on the floor between them.

A couple more agents straggled in while Phil crossed back over to his team, because Sitwell was an asshole and had probably sent out a SHIELD-wide memo.

“What’s going on, sir?” James said as she eyed the other agents suspiciously.

“I’m going to be evaluating all of you,” Phil said.

“Haven’t you been doing that?” Alvarez said.

“Mostly as a spectator,” Phil said. “Today I’m going to see how well you put what you’ve been learning into practice. So, who wants to go first?”

“All of us?” Sanderson said, unable to hide her shock.

Wong recovered first. “Alvarez,” he said.

Soon the others all chorused, “Alvarez,” as well. Alvarez gave them all a look, but gamely stepped forward. “Sir.”

Barton whooped. Natasha called out, “It was nice knowing you, Alvarez!”

Alvarez went pale and looked to Phil for reassurance. Despite everything they’d heard about Agent Coulson (Barton had started the rumor about the paperclip), Phil had gone easy on them during their training.

Phil smiled. “Just do your best, Alvarez.”

Sitwell snorted, and Alvarez lost even more color.

~*~*~*~

Phil was a sweaty mess by the time he’d taken on all five of his team members, but he’d worked off some of the adrenaline buzzing under his skin, and as a bonus had a better understanding of how their training was coming along. As a double bonus, James had eventually realized that they’d do better taking on Phil as a team, rather than letting him at them one-on-one. It had given Phil an even harder work out.

Phil snatched the towel out of the air that Sitwell threw at him. “Was this really necessary?” Phil said, indicating the agents who were exiting the gym as he wiped the sweat off his face and neck.

“I consider it a public service,” Sitwell said, then laughed at the look Phil gave him.

Phil watched Sitwell’s back as he walked away, and vowed to come up with a suitable revenge.

“Nicely done,” Natasha said.

“Thanks,” Phil said. “Where’d Barton have to go?” He’d seen Clint leave earlier, and had to bite back a twinge of regret.

“There’s only so long he can watch you get all hot and sweaty before he has to go rub one out,” Natasha said baldly, as if they were merely talking about the weather.

Phil gave her an exasperated look and hoped the exertion hid any additional red creeping up his neck. “Why would you say something like that?”

“You mean besides it being the truth?”

“I’m sure Barton wouldn’t appreciate it,” Phil said.

“You think he’s hiding it that well?”

Natasha left Phil standing there to consider that.

~*~

Phil had dinner with Audrey that night. Take-out in front of the television, which reminded him of Clint. Instead of watching something off his DVR, Phil let Audrey choose a movie off Netflix. She asked him about the still-healing cut on his temple and Phil lied about where he’d gotten it. She didn’t ask Phil about the last few days when he’d had to cancel and been stressed out even during their phone calls.

The next morning Phil met his team at the paint ball court, which he’d reserved. He named Sanderson and Miller captains and told them to Rochambeau for first pick. Sanderson won and chose Alvarez. Miller chose Wong, and Sanderson got James.

“Looks like I’m on Miller and Wong’s team,” Phil said. “Let’s get geared up.”

“Sir?” Miller said.

They put on their armor and chose their guns, and then the two teams separated.

“Strategy?” Phil said as he hefted the paint ball rifle.

Miller and Wong looked at each other.

Phil said, “You’re the captain, Miller.”

Miller cleared his throat. “Okay.”

~*~

Fury kept Phil in the loop about their HYDRA problem and Phil continued to train his team. Two weeks after their first mission, Phil’s team was sent on their second op together. This one turned out to be the piece of cake their first was supposed to have been, but Phil didn’t let himself think it until they were back at HQ.

Natasha was waiting for Phil when he walked off the jet. Phil couldn’t see him, but he’d bet a good night’s sleep that Barton was hiding somewhere in the rafters.

“You do realize I’ve been doing this for a long time, right?” Phil said as Natasha fell into step next to him.

“Been a while since you did it without one of us,” Natasha pointed out.

Phil wished he could say she was wrong. “Nevertheless.”

Natasha’s lips curled. “But that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

“Is Barton alright?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Yes. I’ve got a mission. Recon only. I’ve been authorized to borrow one of your team, if you’ll permit it.”

“Am I cleared to know the details?”

“You’re welcome to attend the briefing,” Natasha said.

“Who do you need?”

“Alvarez.”

Natasha’s lips twitched when Alvarez groaned.

“He’s all yours,” Phil said. “Please don’t break him.”

“No promises,” Natasha said. “Sometimes things happen in the field you can’t anticipate.”

“I’m standing _right here_ ,” Alvarez said.

Barton swung down and landed in front of them. Wong cut off a squeak of startlement.

“Natasha’s gotten better at playing well with others,” Barton said.

“No I haven’t,” Natasha denied.

Barton shook his head and mouthed, ‘No she hasn’t.’

Phil shook his head. He told Alvarez, “Get to Medical and get cleared. That goes for all of you. We’ll debrief at eighteen hundred. I’ll have the cafeteria send up some food.”

Phil watched them walk away, talking amongst themselves, laughing, then turned to Clint and Natasha. “Are you two done screwing with my team?”

“Forewarned is forearmed,” Barton said seriously.

“I’m sure Alvarez thanks you,” Phil said dryly.

Barton cracked a smile. “No problem, sir.” He sketched a salute, then turned and walked away.

Phil looked at Natasha, who regarded him steadily in return. “Nothing to add?”

“Nothing you’re ready to hear,” Natasha said enigmatically, then followed Barton.

Phil shook his head, determined not to think about it, and headed to Medical to get himself cleared and to check on his team.

~*~*~*~

A few weeks later, after two more successful missions, Agent Jakob Andersen asked to borrow James. Since Romanov had brought Alvarez back in one piece, Phil signed off on it. Andersen was so impressed with James’ performance that he put in a request to have her permanently assigned to his team. Phil stared at the form for a long time before he called James into his office to inform her of the request.

“Sir?” James said, sounding confused. “I thought we were already a team.”

“You are,” Phil said.

“Then why are you separating us?”

“Hmm,” Phil said. Maybe he’d done his job too well. He’d been tasked with teaching this group of agents how to be team players, and he’d gone and turn them into an actual team.

“I’ll have to think about this,” Phil told James. “But let me ask you this, what did you think of working with Andersen’s team?”

James shrugged. “It was fine, kinda fun, actually, but it wasn’t my team.”

Phil dismissed James and went to see Fury. He showed him the request. Fury read it, then looked up at Phil.

“Is there a problem?”

“I’d like you to deny it,” Phil said.

Fury’s one eye was very expressive. “And why the hell would you want me to do that?”

“Because I want to keep them together.”

“You planning to stay on as their handler?”

“No,” Phil said. “I’ve already got my next group of trainees picked out. Besides, I’m still holding out for the mobile response team.”

“How’s Audrey feel about that?” Nick said.

Phil ignored the question because of course it was something that he hadn’t discussed with Audrey, and continued. “I’d like to find a handler for them that’ll be the right fit.”

Fury leaned back in his chair and studied Phil. “Ask Hill for some names.” He scribbled on the request form and handed it back, then waved Phil out of his office.

Phil spoke with Andersen, who was disappointed, but understood where Phil was coming from. He asked if he could use James once in a while to round out his team until his agent got cleared by Medical. Phil agreed.

They continued to go on missions and none of them blew up in their faces. Except for the one time there was an actual explosion, but they’d set it off themselves so Phil couldn’t complain. Between missions, Phil continued to oversee their training and occasionally sent them out individually with other teams to get a taste of working with other handlers. Phil spent some of his down time going over the files that Maria had given him. Some of the agents were experienced handlers, others were due for a promotion to team leader.

Phil went through some of their more recent missions and paid attention to comments about them from handlers or team members. His concern was that this team, like Barton and Romanov, needed someone who understood them and could play to their strengths.

Before Phil finalized his top three choices, he called on Barton and Romanov. “Do either of you know any of these agents?” Phil pointed to the files he’d spread out across his desk.

“We worked with Agent Walters a month ago,” Natasha said. “As I recall he made some good suggestions and he actually listened when Clint talked to him about sight lines and entry points.”

Natasha glanced at Clint as she spoke; Clint nodded in agreement. Phil placed Walters’ file to the side and amended his mental short list. He noticed Clint’s gaze on another file, Agent Clifford Donalson.

“You know him?” Phil said.

Clint snorted. “Yeah, he’s an asshole.”

Phil immediately swept the file off the desk and onto the floor. “Recognize any of the others? Or heard anything about them?”

“I’ve heard Agent Trask is fair,” Natasha said.

Phil added her file to the short list pile with Walters’.

“What are you doing?” Clint said.

“Looking for a permanent handler for my trainees,” Phil said.

Clint looked surprised. “You’re not keeping them?”

“No,” Phil said. “What gave you that idea?”

Clint just shrugged.

“They were good agents, but not so good at being part of a team. They were on their way out if I couldn’t turn them around,” Phil explained.

“You’re good at that,” Clint said.

Phil was surprised to hear Clint say that, but Clint kept his gaze on Phil’s desk so he couldn’t catch his eye. Clint pointed to a file, Agent Benjamin Cantor. “I remember he had my back once. When I first got here; he was still a Level 3, or something.”

Phil added the file to the small pile.

“I heard this one say some misogynistic crap once,” Natasha said.

“And homophobic,” Clint added.

Phil picked up Agent Justin Nabin’s file. “Just once?”

Natasha smiled. “He was very careful around me after that.”

Clint held his fist up for a fist bump and Natasha obliged.

Phil gave that file its own special pile to be looked into later in more depth. Five down. “Would you look at these three files and give me your first impressions?”

“Sure,” Natasha said, picking one up.

Clint didn’t say anything, but chose a different file and threw himself onto the couch. He stiffened when he realized what he’d done, and then forced himself to relax.

“I can leave you alone if you’d be more comfortable,” Phil offered.

“We’re fine,” Natasha said.

Phil glanced at Clint, but he kept his face buried in the file. Phil tried to do some work; he checked his team schedules to see when he could schedule in another team paint ball match or some other team building exercise. He couldn’t keep his mind on it, though, so he decided to review the files that Natasha and Clint had already given their seal of approval.

Phil was startled when a file landed in the middle of his desk. Natasha said, “Agent Adam Mitchell is only up for promotion because Lynk wants him off his team, but he can’t cut him because his mother was a kick ass agent back in the day.”

At Phil’s look, she explained, “Lynk’s comments are all very neutral, not the sort of thing you’d expect on a nomination for promotion.”

Two more files landed on top of that one.

“Nothing stands out about these two either way, which is your answer right there.”

Phil raised an eyebrow.

Surprisingly, it was Clint who answered. “You need someone who understands your team, someone special.”

Phil looked at Clint. “Yes.”

~*~

Phil scheduled meetings with the three agents who made the Barton-and-Romanov-approved short list and returned the other files to Maria. He set Mitchell’s file in front of her. “Rumor has it that he’s being promoted because Agent Lynk doesn’t want him on his team anymore.”

“Does this rumor have a name?” Maria said.

“I asked around,” Phil said. “You might want to check his performance evaluations carefully and speak with his teammates. If you end up denying his promotion, get him off Lynk’s team. And maybe talk to Lynk about promoting an agent who hasn’t earned it.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Maria said. “Anything else?”

She didn’t look surprised when another file landed upon the first. “Nabin? What’s he done?”

“He’s been heard to make misogynistic and homophobic remarks, but there wasn’t a single complaint in his file, so either it’s been whitewashed, or he’s intimidated them.”

“Heard by who?”

“Whom,” Phil said. “Romanov.”

“And he’s still making them?”

“Not around Romanov.”

Phil and Maria shared a smile.

“I’ll be happy to look into it,” Maria said.

Phil set down the last three files.

“What’s wrong with these?”

“Two are nothing special,” Phil said, “and the other is, I’ve been reliably informed, an asshole.”

“Too bad we can’t fire people for being assholes.”

“It really is,” Phil agreed. “I’m going to meet with Walters, Trask, and Cantor.”

“Good choices,” Maria said.

“Do you know them?”

“Not personally,” Maria said. “But if Barton and Romanov approved them, they must be.”

Maria gave Phil a knowing look; Phil gave her his best bland expression in return.

~*~*~*~

Phil met his team in the cafeteria. He joined them at their table and jumped right in. “Agent James was requested for reassignment.”

Everyone fell silent. James went still.

“She rejected the offer because she wanted to stay with her team, _this_ team. I’d like to know how the rest of you feel, because if you want to remain a team, I’ll make it happen, and if you want to be reassigned, I’ll make that happen, too.”

No one spoke at first, then Alvarez said, “I never felt like part of a team before.”

“You’re part of this team,” Wong said.

“Even if you still can’t hit a girl,” James added, sounding relieved to have the focus off of her.

Alvarez kicked her under the table. “I can hit you.”

They all laughed.

“What do the rest of you think?”

“Stay,” the others chorused.

Phil nodded.

“Will you be our handler?” Sanderson asked.

“No,” Phil said. “I was never meant to be your permanent handler. SHIELD thought you were all worth keeping. It was my job to make that happen. Now I need to hand you off to someone else, but I’ll make sure that they appreciate you all.”

James barked a laugh. “You mean you’ll find someone who fits in with the misfits?”

Phil winced. “You heard about that?”

“We might be losers, but we’re not deaf,” Miller said.

“You’re not losers,” Phil said. “Except for you three the other day on the paint ball court when we kicked your butts.”

That startled a laugh out of Miller.

“I demand a rematch,” James said.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Phil said.

~*~

There was a reason Phil and Barton had been a team, and the fact that they worked well together was only part of it. Phil had realized early on that Barton needed special handling, and the fact of the matter was that he didn’t trust anyone else with the job. It wasn’t that he was possessive of Barton so much that he was protective of him. His trainees had somehow snuck up on him the same way, and he was overly invested in finding a handler that meshed well with their personalities.

Phil stared across his desk at Agent Kenneth Walters. Walters’ hand twitched in his lap, but he didn’t break eye contact. Phil had met with all three of the agents on his short list – on paper they were all excellent agents and they’d been very personable in their interviews. Phil knew it was silly, but he was leaning towards Walters because both Barton and Romanov had worked with him recently and he’d received their seal of approval.

He was concerned, however, that Walters might not be ready to handle a team like this one on his first go. Phil didn’t doubt, given his record, that Walters was due a promotion, but that didn’t stop him from worrying that it wasn’t going to be a good fit.

Phil finally spoke, though he didn’t take his gaze off Walters. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I’ve heard rumors, sir,” Walters said, “that you’re looking for a permanent handler for your team.”

“You come highly recommended,” Phil said.

Walters tried to look like he wasn’t affected by that, but he couldn’t hide his pleasure at the comment. “Sir, Agent Morris is . . . .”

Phil interrupted. “Yes, Agent Morris had nothing but good things to say about you, but I was talking about Barton and Romanov.”

Walters was too shocked to try and hide it. “I . . . didn’t know that, I . . .”

“Do _you_ think you’re ready?” Phil asked.

“Since you’ve seen my test results and performance evaluations, and you’ve invited me here for this interview, you know I’m qualified, so I’m going to guess that you’re asking if I’m ready for your team in particular. If it’s true that they call themselves the misfits, then I’ll probably fit in quite well.”

Phil considered Walters, his sincerity, then set a pile of folders on the corner of his desk. They contained his team’s personnel information, mission reports, and performance evaluations going back to before Phil took them on. “These folders don’t leave this floor. You can use the conference room down the hall. If, after you’ve read them, you still believe you’re ready for this team, then meet us in the gym at oh eight hundred tomorrow.”

Walters tried to hide his surprise that he’d actually gotten this far as he stood and took the files. Phil waited until Walters reached the door to say, “Wear your workout clothes.”

The files were stacked neatly on Phil’s desk the next morning and he wasn’t surprised to see Agent Walters stretching on a mat in the gym. James gave Walters a narrow-eyed look when he stood and came over after seeing Phil enter.

“Sir,” Walters said.

“Agent Walters,” Phil said, then looked at his team, who were all studying Walters with varying degrees of interest and suspicion.

“This is my team,” Phil said. “Agents James, Miller, Wong, Sanderson, and Alvarez. Everyone, this is Agent Walters. He’ll be joining us today.”

Without waiting for a response, Phil said, “Line up and choose your sparring partner.”

There was a moment of hesitation, but then James and Sanderson lined up on either side of Alvarez. Miller and Wong stepped up in front of Alvarez and Sanderson, which left James to spar with Walters. Phil bit back a smile at the way James and Sanderson had automatically stepped up to protect Alvarez against a perceived outsider, and how they’d paired said outsider up with James.

After sparring they went to the range, the team evaluating Walters’ scores as much as he did theirs. Phil gave them time to shower and they met in the cafeteria for lunch. The afternoon was spent preparing for several mock missions so that Walters could see how the team thought, and the team could in turn see how Walters thought.

Phil stayed out of the planning, only pointing out things they hadn’t taken into consideration once they’d finalized their plan. It was difficult to bite his tongue because he could (and had ) plan some of these missions blindfolded and with both hands tied behind his back, but he did it because they needed to learn to work together, and without him.

The next morning they met at the basketball courts. Everyone groaned at the announcement because they hadn’t been back since that first debacle. Again, Phil sat on the sidelines while they warmed up. Walters noticed immediately that Sanderson had trouble hitting the basket, so he offered to go to the other end and practice shooting with her, even showing her how to stand, when to release the ball.

Phil suggested they play a little half-court three-on-three. Miller shot him a look, but they chose teams and played. This game was more fun, and less cut throat than their first game against the team Sitwell had called up. Walters wasn’t on Sanderson’s team, but Phil noticed a few weak passes that allowed her to steal the ball and a gentle defense that gave her time to make a shot. She rarely even hit the rim, but she seemed more confident with each shot.

After a short break for water and to catch their breath, Phil took them to the obstacle course where they climbed a rock wall and shimmied up hanging rope, rappelled down walls and ziplined across a fake river. Normally Phil would’ve left them to their own devices, but today he pretended to do paperwork so he could observe their interactions.

After lunch they worked on planning more missions. The next day was paint ball in the morning and mock missions after lunch. After he dismissed the team, Phil held Walters back. “Still think you can handle them?”

“Yes, sir,” Walters said.

“Come up with a training schedule,” Phil said.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four:**

The next week they got a mission. They were still the low team in the rankings, so they normally got the less urgent missions, but this time they were being called upon to act as back-up on a high priority mission.

The briefing room was over half-full when Phil got there, but his team had taken a row of seats near the back and waved to let him know they’d saved him a seat. Phil acknowledged them, but went to speak with Maria briefly to offer her his support.

Phil had just gotten seated between Miller and James when a commotion near the door made him look up. Clint and Natasha had tried to slip into the room unnoticed, but Tomas Paulson had seen them and was ribbing Barton about something. Natasha caught Phil’s eye and gave him a ‘what can you do?’ look.

Maria knocked on the table. “Now that the stragglers are here . . .”

Barton gave Maria an innocent look; her look in response clearly said she wasn’t buying it.

“. . . we can get started.”

Natasha moved towards the back of the room and Clint automatically followed. Clint’s face cycled through a few expressions when he saw Phil – surprise, happiness, a blank mask, a glare at Natasha’s back that she ignored. Phil told himself that it was ridiculous for him to feel hurt by Clint’s reaction because they weren’t _like that_ anymore. They weren’t friends, much less friends with benefits; they weren’t even teammates.

Still, Phil couldn’t help holding onto the brief glimpse of what he had once had all the time – Clint happy to see him. Phil didn’t turn his head, but he knew that Natasha had seated herself behind Miller so that Clint had no choice but to sit behind Phil unless he wanted to put an empty seat between them. Phil knew it was just his imagination, but he swore he could feel the heat off Clint’s body against the back of his neck.

Phil forced his attention back to the meeting. He wasn’t going to be responsible for anything except the readiness of his own team, but he was more used to being the agent leading these types of ops, and so part of it was just habit of needing to know everything that was going on so he had an idea of the scope of the operation, but also so he had a better handle on when his team might be needed, and what they’d be called upon to do.

He tried to blame habit, too, when he listened carefully to where Barton and Romanov would be stationed, and what their roles would be. Phil didn’t have time to freak out when jet assignments went out and he learned that his team would be riding with Clint and Natasha because they had less than an hour before they had to assemble in the staging area.

Phil’s switch flipped into ‘op mode’ as Clint called . . . used to call it. He didn’t need to change out of his suit, but he went with his team to the locker room where they all dressed in their tactical uniforms, and then to gear up with flack jackets and helmets, and finally to pick up their weapons. All the while Clint and Natasha were a comforting presence in his periphery doing the same.

Phil checked his own weapon and made sure he had extra magazines before they boarded the jet. Walters sat with the team – Phil didn’t know if he was falling back on habit or allowing Phil to handle the op because it was the team’s first major one, but he did nothing to push his position, which Phil appreciated.

Phil was triple-checking that his team had all their gear and listening to Maria’s updates in his ear as the situation on the ground changed when Clint and Natasha stepped onto the jet. Clint stopped in front of Phil and slapped a vest against his chest. “Because I know you won’t stay in the jet.”

Phil grabbed hold of the vest with one hand and slapped a grappling arrow against Clint’s chest. “Because I know you can’t resist jumping off of high buildings.”

“I have one,” Clint said, his fingers closing around Phil’s as he took the arrow out of Phil’s hand.

“You’ll probably need two,” Phil said.

Clint’s face did something Phil couldn’t decipher, and then he pulled away. “Buckle in, kiddies,” Clint said as he made his way to the front of the jet where he installed himself in the cockpit with the pilot.

Natasha rolled her eyes and muttered, “Idiots,” when she passed Phil. She glanced at Alvarez as she passed him and he breathed a sigh of relief when she kept walking, choosing a seat near the front.

“Everyone aboard?” Agent Kim Hooper called back from the pilot’s seat.

Phil glanced around the jet, then said, “Yes.”

A moment later the ramp started to rise. Phil quickly took a seat beside Natasha and buckled himself in. He wanted the team to get used to not having him in their midst. He wasn’t quite ready to let go of them, but they needed to start looking to Walters for leadership.

Natasha was silent on the flight, but it was familiar. She liked to get herself into the mission mind set, and Phil used the time to review the mission, Maria occasionally speaking in his ear.

The jet went in cloaked and dropped Barton and Romanov off on the roof of a nearby building, from where Black Widow would zipline to the roof of the neighboring target building. Entry from the front and back would distract everyone inside while Romanov snuck in from the roof. The memory of Clint suggesting the name Foghorn Leghorn as their team name, and Maria’s glare in response to the suggestion, rose up unbidden. Phil’s lips curled up at the corners now as they had done then.

The jet moved off a safe distance and remained cloaked. Phil listened to the open comms channel as the infiltration teams were put in place.

“Falcon Team, in position.”

“Buzzard Team, in position.”

“Raven Team, in position,” Widow said.

“Falcon Team, you have a go,” Hill’s voice said in Phil’s ear.

“Roger, Home Base.”

There was a moment of heavy, charged silence broken by an explosion, and then Agent David Briggs said, “Front gate open, Falcon Team moving in.”

The frontal assault was meant to be loud to draw as much of the security forces as possible to their location.

“Go for Buzzard Team,” Hill said.

Buzzard Team used a little more finesse to hack the security system and unlock the back door, but not much. HYDRA was supposed to believe they were the team the frontal assault was covering for, while the actual threat, Black Widow, snuck in through the roof.

“Security down, Buzzard Team breaching now,” Agent Pamela Harper said, and then led her team into the building.

“Raven Team . . .”

“Zipline in place,” Barton said before Hill had a chance to finish.

“What if I was going to tell you to hold?” Hill said.

“You weren’t,” Barton said confidently, though some might say arrogantly. “Roadrunner taking flight.”

“Roadrunners don’t fly,” Hill pointed out. “And it’s Raven One.”

“I thought I was Raven One.”

“You’re Raven pain in my ass,” Hill said.

Phil turned to his team, who were all listening to the comms over the jet communication system. “Don’t follow Barton’s example.”

“How come he gets away with it?” Miller said.

“Because he can back it up,” Phil said, noting that Walters was biting back a smile.

“The Raven has landed,” Barton said, and Phil heard a snort behind him.

Phil wished he had eyes on the op, but he made due with what he did have. As he listened to the updates over comms, he pictured the operation playing out in his mind. He knew where every agent was when they made entry, when they first met opposition, when the first explosion went off. Right now he imagined Romanov running across the roof as silent as a cat to the vent shaft she’d use to gain entry. An alarm went off.

“Oops,” Harper said dryly. “Someone finally realized we’re here.”

“Took ‘em long enough,” Hill said. “Status Falcon Team.”

“Status Purple. It’s a good thing we’re not really trying to get inside because these guys are amateurs. And their boss just sent half of them off to meet Buzzard Team,” Briggs reported.

“I think I just found their best soldiers,” Romanov said.

“How many?” Hill said.

“Five, no six,” Romanov replied.

“Do you need back-up?” Hill said.

Romanov scoffed. “Please. Piece of cake.”

“How’s it going now, Falcon Team?”

“We’re pushing forward slowly,” Briggs said.

“Don’t let it look like we’re taking it easy on them,” Hill said. “We don’t want them to get suspicious and check on the package. Buzzard Team, report.”

“They’ve got us ‘pinned’,” Harper said.

“Get ready to move when Raven One gives the word. Speaking of Raven One, status?”

“Guards down. I’m working on the door’s security.”

“We’ve got a chopper incoming,” Barton announced. “Make that two. Hurry the hell up, Raven One.”

“That’s my call, Raven Two,” Hill snapped. “Hurry the hell up, Raven One.”

“Aye, aye,” Romanov said.

“Report, Raven Two,” Hill said.

“One chopper is landing on the roof, the other is holding back. Off-loading soldiers, half a dozen, they’re . . . diverting from the roof access,” Barton said, sounding surprised. After a moment of silence, Barton said, “I think I know why they put their lab on the top floors.”

“Wanna share with the class, Raven Two?” Hill said.

“They’re hooking up cables. I think the lab is portable, and they’re gonna yank it out of there.”

“Think you can slow them down, Raven Two?”

“Happily,” Barton said. A moment later he reported, “The good news is, the pilot’s down, and two soldiers are on the ground.”

“What’s the bad news?” Hill said, and kept Phil from voicing the thought himself.

“I’ve been spotted,” Barton said. “I’m going to have to abandon my position.”

Phil went stiff and wished more than ever that he had a visual. He nearly broke radio silence when Briggs said, “That was a missile. Direct hit on Raven Two’s position.”

Luckily Hill immediately demanded, “Raven Two! Come in, Raven Two. Where the hell is Raven Two? Does anyone have a visual?”

“No visual, sir,” Briggs said. “Raven Two was on the zipline, but that snapped when the missile hit.”

“Raven Two, report!” Hill ordered.

Barton coughed. “I’m okay,” he said.

Phil did not heave a sigh of relief, but he did feel the tension ooze out of his muscles at the sound of Clint’s voice.

“What’s your status, Raven Two?” Hill said.

“Twisted ankle, cracked ribs. I’m not sure what floor I landed on, but I’m going to find the stairs and head up to Raven One’s position.”

“Acknowledged,” Hill said. “Raven One?”

“The scientists in here _really_ didn’t want to part with their research. I’ve got photos and I’m copying the information off their computer,” Natasha checked in.

“How much longer? If Raven Two is correct, you don’t have much time,” Hill said.

“It’s at forty percent,” Natasha said. “There’s some interesting equipment here,” she added. “And by interesting, I mean ‘creepy as hell’. It reminds me of . . .”

Natasha cut off and Hill said, “Report, Raven One.”

“I think we’re moving . . . Yep, definitely moving. I thought you shot the pilot?” Natasha directed to Clint.

“I did,” Clint said, sounding breathless. Either from running up the stairs, or from his cracked ribs. “They must’ve had a back-up.”

“Get out now, Raven One,” Hill ordered.

“It’s only at sixty percent,” Natasha said.

“Take what you’ve got and go.”

“Company,” Natasha said. “Time to have some fun.”

“ _Some_ fun?” Clint said. “You weren’t having fun before?”

“Some more fun,” Natasha amended.

“Raven Two?”

“Building doesn’t seem to be destabilizing, so it must’ve been built to hold the lab,” Clint reported.

“Get out of there, Raven Two.”

“Working on it,” Clint ground out.

“Falcon Team?”

“The chopper’s seen us, but they apparently don’t think we’re a threat,” Briggs said.

“Let’s make them rethink that,” Hill said. “Hummingbird,” she said, and everyone on the jet went to attention. “Please get into position to blow that chopper out of the sky.”

“With pleasure, sir,” Hooper said, sounding happier than she should.

The cloaked jet rose in the air and Phil moved to the cockpit so he could watch out the windshield. They moved closer, and Agent Hooper pressed the button that engaged the weapons. It beeped when the sighting system locked onto the chopper.

“I’ve got a lock,” Hooper said.

“Buzzard Team, stop playing with your food and get out of there.”

“Yes, sir,” Harper said.

“Hummingbird, fire.”

“Firing,” Hooper reported.

The chopper took evasive maneuvers, but the missile still managed to clip the rotor. The pilot lost control and the chopper swung around, the tail slamming into the building.

“The chopper’s taken a hit,” Hooper reported, “but it’s going to hit the building on the way down.”

“Everyone, get out of there!” Hill ordered.

“Missile incoming!” Hooper reported. She took evasive action, but the missile wasn’t headed for the jet.

“The building’s the target,” Phil said. “Get out of that damned building!”

The missile hit, sending shrapnel, flames, smoke, and dust into the air. When the dust cleared, the top several floors of the building were a smoking crater.

Phil swallowed hard. “Raven Two?”

“What’s going on?” Hill said.

Hooper filled Maria in while Phil searched for Clint, his heart in his throat. Finally Clint said, “I got out of the building.”

“Where are you?” Phil said, afraid that he’d see Clint dangling off the precariously standing building.

“Uh, with Raven One, sort of.”

Phil looked up, then up further. Instead of the building, Clint dangled off the bottom of the lab from the rope of his grabbling arrow.

“How exactly do you plan to get down?” Phil said, refusing to believe there was any other option.

“Usual way, probably,” Clint said.

“Don’t you dare jump, Raven Two,” Phil ordered.

“Aww, sir,” Clint said. “Now you know I have to. Also, I’m taking fire.”

“Raven Two, get your ass inside the lab,” Phil ordered.

“No can do,” Natasha said as she climbed out the open door and down onto the rope with Clint. “I think they triggered some kind of self-destruct.”

“They’re going to blow up the lab?” Hill said.

“More like fumigate it,” Natasha said. “They don’t want to lose the equipment and research.”

“Falcon and Buzzard Teams, are you airborne?” Hill said.

Briggs and Harper both replied in the affirmative.

“Take out that damned chopper and the lab.”

Phil opened his mouth to question her, but Hill said, “Raven Two, get Raven One the hell out of there.”

“Hey, sir,” Clint said. “See you on the ground.”

Before Phil could speak, Natasha cut the line and they were both falling, falling . . .

“Can we catch them?” Walters said.

“Use the damn arrow I gave you,” Phil ordered. “We’re going to catch you.”

“What the hell should I aim at?”

“What’s left of the building!” Phil said.

Clint shot the arrow and Phil crossed his fingers that the building would hold until they reached them. It seemed to take forever for Hooper to maneuver the open ramp of the jet beneath where they were hanging, though they couldn’t get too close because of the condition of the building. Clint and Natasha argued over who should jump first.

“You’re hurt,” Natasha said.

“You are, too,” Clint replied. “I saw the way you were favoring your right side, and that was before you slammed into the side of the building.”

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jump together,” he ordered.

“We were getting there, Coulson,” Clint said.

“We have an enemy chopper and a building that looks ready to crumble; I don’t think you have time,” Phil retorted.

“Spoil sport,” Clint said, but he and Natasha kicked off the side of the building, swung out and then back to kick off again, building up momentum. They swung out in a wide arc and Clint hit the release and they were both falling again.

Clint and Natasha landed on the ramp with a bone jarring thud. Clint swore when he started to roll off. Walters dove and caught Clint’s arm and helped him scramble back on. Alvarez helped Natasha to her feet, and surprisingly she didn’t try to kill him with a glare. Once everyone was safely aboard, Wong hit the control to close the ramp.

“They’re both on-board,” Phil reported to Maria with more relief in his voice than he’d normally let show.

“How are your ribs?” James asked Clint.

Phil listened with half an ear to their conversation as he queried Maria about the remaining chopper.

“It got away,” Hill said.

Phil frowned. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“We’re sending some other assets after the lab,” Hill said, which wasn’t an answer. “Return to base. Hill out.”

A series of acknowledgments filled Phil’s ear, and he added his own. The comms went silent, and Phil turned his full attention to Clint, who’d actually let James and Miller examine him. Phil walked over to lean beside Natasha. They both watched Clint.

Miller pulled out the wrap for Clint’s ribs.

“Look, I’m fine,” Clint said.

Before he could continue, James poked him in the side. Clint’s protests cut off as he gasped and doubled over.

“You’re not fine,” Miller said, stating the obvious.

There were no more complaints from Clint as James and Miller wrapped his ribs, but he gave Phil a baleful glare. Phil raised an eyebrow in response.

“Your team is mean,” Clint said with a pout.

Miller snorted.

“You should’ve seen her before,” Wong said.

“Yeah, she was a whole lot meaner,” Sanderson added.

James gave Clint a smile that was all teeth, which was the last straw for Phil. He laughed. The others looked at him for a moment, and then they were all laughing. Just moments before they’d been watching as Clint and Natasha plummeted to certain death, and now they were all safe. Even Clint laughed, and his little ‘ow, ow’s as he pulled on his ribs made Phil laugh harder because Clint was _alive_.

~*~*~*~

A week later there was a small ceremony where several agents received promotion. There was a reception in the cafeteria, and a smaller ceremony after in which Phil handed over his team to their new team leader.

After a couple toasts, Walters said, “Would I still have received this promotion if I’d dropped Barton?”

Phil gave Walters his blandest look. “Let’s be glad we didn’t have to find out.”

Before Phil could gather together his next team, Tony Stark rescued himself from Afghan rebels and created a situation which Phil was sent to Malibu in an attempt to contain. It was a headache from start to finish, but at least he’d gotten to meet Pepper Potts, who was an island of tranquility in the insanity of Stark’s life. Phil didn’t think things could get worse after Tony Stark declared himself to be Iron Man on national television, but then a hammer fell out of the sky and Phil ended up in the middle of a desert in New Mexico.

Sitwell was already on site when Phil got there. “What took you so long to get out here? Your flight was scheduled to land an hour ago.”

“The flight was late,” Phil said. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie.

Clint appeared on Phil’s other side. “He stopped for donuts.”

Phil’s stomach leapt and warmth bloomed inside his chest. He tamped down on the pleasure he felt at Clint’s presence and gave him a bland look. “That’s classified, Barton.”

Clint grinned, and for a moment things felt normal between them. Then Clint reported to Sitwell on the perimeter check and Phil was reminded anew that he’d lost this. Sitwell gave Phil a look after Clint left them with a mock salute.

“What?”

Sitwell shook his head. “Just wondering how someone so smart can be so damned stupid.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Phil said. Which wasn’t exactly true; Phil had some idea, he just didn’t know how to fix it.

Instead of calling Phil on the lie, Sitwell brought him up to speed on the 084.

Phil didn’t see Clint again for the rest of the day, so it was with a jolt of pleasure that he heard Clint’s voice in his ear later that night when someone showed up for the hammer. Once the man – Donald, who later turned out to be Thor – was in custody, Phil watched him for a few minutes before he went to the trailer they’d set up for that purpose to change out of his rain-soaked suit before questioning the man. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see Clint there, since he’d been out in the rain as well, but Phil hadn’t expected to run into him.

They nodded to each other, then Phil turned his back so they both had the illusion of privacy, and started tugging at the knot of his sodden tie. Even his undershirt was soaked. Phil grimaced as he peeled it away from his skin and over his head.

“I feel like a drowned rat,” Phil muttered as he hung the undershirt on a hook in hopes that it would dry before it mildewed. Clint snorted and Phil shot a glare at him over his shoulder. “No comments from the peanut gallery, Barton.”

Clint smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” He turned away, but not before his gaze slid down Phil’s body. Goosebumps that had nothing to do with being cold and wet broke out over the bare skin.

Phil undid his slacks and, after toeing out of his shoes, pushed them down his legs and stepped out of them. Clint made a sound, but when Phil glanced over he was staring determinedly down at the t-shirt he held in his hands, turning it this way and that as the proper way to pull it over his head appeared to elude him.

“Everything alright, Barton?” Phil said.

“Absolutely!” Clint said. He gave Phil a forced smile that disappeared when he finally figured out how to pull the t-shirt on.

Phil watched the progress of the t-shirt as it covered Clint’s shoulders, chest, stomach. His gaze lingered on the bruises mostly hidden beneath the waistband of the pants hanging off Clint’s hips. He could still see them in his mind even after the t-shirt had been pulled down and the pants fastened, even when Clint shoved his feet into untied boots and grabbed a dry jacket before leaving Phil alone with a perfunctory, “See you later, sir.”

Fingerprints. Phil couldn’t erase the image from his mind, couldn’t stop thinking about how Clint had gotten them. He finished changing in a blur that only began to lift when Phil stepped out of the trailer to find Sitwell waiting with a cup of coffee. Phil pushed down the swirling thoughts and asked Sitwell what they’d been able to learn about their guest. He sipped the coffee and walked back towards the containment room while Sitwell spoke.

Phil was distracted by the interview with Donald and the hammer and the battle with a machine created by an alien god, and also _alien gods_ , yet each time he caught sight of Clint he couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping to his hip as if he could see the marks through the material. Phil didn’t ask himself why they bothered him so much.

~*~*~*~

Phil’s time with Audrey had been limited the past few months. His schedule had been freed up considerably when he’d removed himself from the field to take on the training of a new team, but once they’d gelled and started taking actual missions (even if they had been on the easy side), and then the trip to Malibu and the side trip to New Mexico, well, Phil had spoken to her on the phone, but they hadn’t seen each other in weeks by the time he returned to New York.

Their first date was two nights later, since Phil had been busy filling out reports and attending meetings on both Iron Man and the existence of aliens when he first returned. Audrey opted for take-out and a movie at Phil’s place. Phil stopped for Indian on the way home and was only there for about five minutes before there was a knock at his door.

Phil was glad he’d taken the time to at least remove his jacket and tie, loosen a couple buttons at his throat and roll up his cuffs because Audrey was dressed for comfort in pair of black yoga pants and a fuzzy purple sweater. She greeted him with a smile and a hug, and Phil let himself melt into it. He’d been so busy that he had barely spared her a thought, but he had missed her, missed this, the way she smiled at him and made him feel content.

They piled their plates and sat in front of the television, an episode of Curb Appeal playing softly in the background as they ate and talked about their days – Phil found lying to Audrey much easier when he could frame it with the truth of meetings and reports on the so-called business trips he’d been on for the past few weeks.

Phil took their plates to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee while he put away leftovers and did their dishes. They fixed their coffees and carried them to the living room. They made themselves comfortable on the sofa, but Audrey stilled Phil’s hand when he reached for the remote. Phil’s eyes caught the flash of diamond on her finger.

“I have something to tell you,” Audrey said.

Phil looked at her and smiled. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

Audrey smiled back. “It’s exciting news. I think.”

Phil forced the smile to remain on his face even though his stomach dropped – God, he wasn’t ready for a child, not with his job . . . .

“Even if I don’t accept, it’s such an honor being asked . . .”

“Being asked what?” Phil said.

“The Portland Symphony has invited me to play,” Audrey said.

“That’s wonderful!” Phil said, probably sounding more excited than the news warranted because of the relief that flooded him when he realized she hadn’t announced that they were going to be parents.

“How long would you be gone?” Phil said. After coming back from several weeks away he could hardly begrudge Audrey the opportunity to play with the Portland Symphony.

“If I accept,” Audrey said, as if she wanted to make it clear to Phil that she hadn’t yet done so, “I would be moving to Portland. To live,” she added at the confused look on Phil’s face.

“You’d be leaving New York,” Phil said as realization hit.

“Yes,” Audrey said.

“It’s an amazing opportunity,” Phil said, because he knew it was, and not just because Audrey was actually considering it.

“It is,” Audrey agreed. “But I think we’re an amazing opportunity, too.” She squeezed Phil’s hand. “I didn’t want to make a decision without talking to you about it.”

“Would you . . . stay in New York?”

“It’s on the table,” Audrey said.

“Tell me, tell me about this new job.”

Audrey’s smile was blinding. “Well, I’d have more responsibility, which would be scary, but exciting. The pay wouldn’t change much, but since the cost of living in Portland is lower than in New York City the money would go further.”

“Have you been there before?” Phil said.

“Once,” Audrey said. “When I was still studying. The city’s beautiful.” She paused. “I think you’d like it there.”

It took Phil a moment to realize what she’d said. “You’d want me to go with you?”

“Of course I would, Phil. I’m sure you could find a job there. Lot’s of places need forensic accountants, right? Especially one as talented as you are.”

“Yes,” Phil said, feeling like his brain was super sluggish. “I could check . . . on the job prospects, I mean. When . . . when do they need to know?”

“By the end of the week,” Audrey said with a wince. “I didn’t want to talk about this over the phone, and I’ve kept them waiting for an answer . . .”

“No, I completely understand,” Phil said. “I . . . I’ll need to think about it.”

“Of course you will,” Audrey said with a knowing smile. “I know you’ve had a busy day, and this is a lot to process, so rain check on the movie?”

“Yes, of course,” Phil agreed.

Phil walked Audrey to the door.

“Don’t twist yourself all up over it,” Audrey said. “I don’t have to take the job. I’d stay in New York.”

“For me?” Phil said.

“For us.”

The coffee cooled while Phil sat on the couch and stared unseeing at the television screen. He could ask for a reposting. It wasn’t as if SHIELD didn’t have field offices outside of NYC and DC. The work he’d be assigned someplace like Portland, Oregon would be nothing like the missions he got here at HQ. He’d still be doing good work, but the truth was, SHIELD was important to him. He was good at his job, and he loved doing it. He didn’t want to give that up.

But he couldn’t ask Audrey to give up such an amazing opportunity for him. Not when he wasn’t able to give up his job for her. Not when he’d seen the way her face lit up when she talked about the offer. She wanted it, and Phil couldn’t blame her. He imagined Audrey taking the job and moving across the country without him.

Phil felt a flare of sadness because he loved Audrey, and he loved spending time with her. She was fun to be around, and easy to talk to, and her sense of humor was almost as dry as his own. He would miss her tremendously, but . . . Phil waited for the heartache, the crushing sense of loss that he’d felt when Clint had closed him out of his life, but it never came.

He’d had a more visceral reaction to seeing the bruises on Clint’s hip than he was having now at the thought of Audrey moving thousands of miles away. That meant something, but Phil didn’t want to think too deeply on what it was, because if he did he might have to admit that he’d made some very poor choices.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love Audrey – he cared deeply for her – but maybe it was time to admit, if only to himself, that he wasn’t _in love_ with her. He was in love with Clint Barton. And since he was being honest with himself, it was possible – probable – that he’d always been in love with Clint.

Phil sat on the couch until the sky began to lighten, going back over his relationship with Clint – the trust, the friendship, the sex. The way it had all ended when Phil met Audrey and fell in love. Or thought he had. He didn’t know if he’d projected his feelings for Clint onto Audrey, or not, but he knew that he wouldn’t leave SHIELD for her.

Phil snorted. He’d believed that being a SHIELD agent didn’t work with having a relationship, he’d used that as an excuse to have no-strings sex with Clint without having to worry about a relationship ruining their friendship, which he’d ended up ruining anyway by ignoring Clint’s feelings for him, and his own for Clint. He’d attempted a relationship that was doomed from the beginning – not just because Phil had projected his own feelings for Clint onto her, but because he had been lying to Audrey for months about what he did.

After they’d gotten engaged, Phil could’ve told her. It would’ve taken a change to his official paperwork and her signature on an NDA, but it could’ve been done. But Phil hadn’t put Audrey’s name on Form 248-H, which meant that if anything had happened to him in the line of duty, Audrey never would have known.

Phil forced himself off the sofa. He took a shower and dressed in his favorite suit. He straightened the tie Clint had given him several birthdays ago. (2005. Phil had a splint on his fingers because he’d broken two of them getting Clint back from a drug lord who thought they were DEA and learned a painful lesson because of that miscalculation. Clint had slipped the tie around his neck and tied it for him, then kissed him so sweetly that Phil had considered cancelling his own birthday dinner. Except then Sitwell would’ve wanted to know the details of why, and Phil would’ve had to explain why Clint hadn’t shown up either . . .)

Phil closed his eyes for a moment, and wondered how he could’ve been so stupid. So blind. He took a breath and slipped into his suit jacket.

It was obvious to Phil that he’d woken Audrey, but she somehow managed to look beautiful despite the uncombed hair and bunny slippers. She smiled when she saw Phil, though it might’ve been for the tray of coffee and bag of pastries from their favorite bakery as much as for Phil himself.

Audrey let him in and they sat at the small table in her kitchen. Phil picked at the monkey bread until Audrey said, “Why are you here, Phil?”

“I was up all night thinking,” Phil said.

Audrey nodded to let him know she was listening.

“I know I haven’t been able to tell you much about my job,” Phil said. “But what I do, it’s important. I’m good at it. And I enjoy it. I can’t leave.”

“Can’t,” Audrey said, “or don’t want to?”

Phil shrugged. “Both?”

“I don’t have to take the job,” Audrey said, taking Phil’s hand.

“I think you should,” Phil said. “It’s an amazing opportunity, and it’s important to you.”

“You’re important to me, too,” Audrey said.

Phil turned his hand over and gripped Audrey’s. “I can’t ask you to do that.” Before Audrey could protest, Phil said, “You deserve better.”

“Than coming second to your job?” Audrey said with a resigned smile. “I made my peace with that before I accepted your proposal. I did know what I was getting into.”

She hadn’t know. How could she, Phil hadn’t even know. “Than coming second to anything,” Phil said. Or anyone. “I’m going to miss you.”

“But not enough to come with me, or to ask me to stay,” Audrey said. It should’ve sounded bitter, but instead it was matter-of-fact.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said. “I wish I could be the person you deserve.”

Phil didn’t know what else he could possibly say to make things better. He stood. “I should go.”

Before he reached the door, Audrey said, “Who was she, the woman you’re in love with?”

Phil froze. Was he really the only one who hadn’t seen it? He turned to face Audrey. “I didn’t realize that I was,” he told her truthfully. “But if it makes you feel better, he’s moved on.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Audrey said. She crossed the room and took Phil’s hand. “I want you to be happy.”

“I want you to be happy, too.”

“Just not with each other.”

Phil shook his head. “No, not with each other.”

Audrey gave Phil a smile that held understanding and sadness. Phil bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. “I really do love you.”

“You’re a real asshole,” Audrey said. She slipped the diamond off her finger and placed the ring in Phil’s palm. “Now go away so I can spend some time being mad at you.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

The ring was a heavy weight in his pocket. It was strange, just how _normal_ his day was when it felt like his world had been turned upside down. Maybe he’d gotten too good at hiding behind the mask he wore even in front of his friends.

Phil finished up the last round of meetings about Stark and Thor. He ran into his old team in the cafeteria and they urged him to join them so they could tell him about the missions they’d been on while he was out west. He caught up on all the active missions.

At the end of the day Phil headed for the range. Just before he reached the door, four agents stepped out. Clint exited first, but he didn’t see Phil because he was walking backwards, talking to the others. Samantha Ellison rolled her eyes at whatever Clint had said, and she and George Himmell pushed past him. Clint fell into step with Kyle Gordon, only looking up when Ellison greeted Phil with a, “Sir.”

“Agents,” Phil said, while the other three chorused ‘sir’s, Clint’s coming just a beat after the other two.

Phil didn’t know if he was imagining it, or whether Clint’s cheeks were pinker than usual. Phil forced himself to put the question out of his mind as he picked out a set of ear muffs.

The next day Phil approached Fury about putting another team of trainees together. Nick denied his request, saying he needed Phil available for when the “Stark Situation” imploded, and wouldn’t budge when Phil tried to convince him that someone – _anyone_ – else would be better suited for the job of wrangling Stark.

“I’ve sent Natasha to babysit Stark,” Nick told Phil. “But I’ll need you when the shit hits the fan. And it will.”

“Babysitting, is that how you framed it to Natasha?” Phil said.

“Do I look stupid to you?”

Phil did get Nick to agree to some additional team training exercises for the agents in most need, so Phil set up a meeting with the training coordinator and got to work jotting down notes.

“You guys any better at basketball?” Phil asked as he placed his tray between James and Walters, and sat down. At their blank looks in response, Phil said, “Paint ball?”

“Oh my god,” Miller said. “Do we get to be the A-Team this time?”

“A-Team?” Phil said, fork half raised to his mouth.

“The team you bring in to knock the other team down a peg and show ‘em they don’t know as much as they think they know,” Wong said.

“I like to think of it as an exercise that allows me to evaluate what areas agents need to concentrate on,” Phil said.

“Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to,” Sanderson said.

“In any case,” Phil said, “I need an A-Team, yes.”

“Sah-weet!” Alvarez said.

Walters and Phil exchanged looks while the others high-fived each other.

“Just tell us when and where, sir,” Walters said, “and we’ll be there. It’ll give me a chance to make sure these guys haven’t lost a step since we don’t get to train as much, being in the field.”

Initial groans turned into ‘hell yeah’s at the reminder that they were a field team now.

“Thank you, Agent Walters,” Phil said. “I’ll let you know.”

~*~

Phil spent the afternoon with Agents Daniels and Jackson going over files and evaluations and setting up teams. (Unlike FitzSimmons in the science division, Clara Daniels and Shaun Jackson did not appreciate being called JackDaniels. Phil knew this because Barton had insisted on it and he’d had to deal with their displeasure over it.)

Each team consisted of agents who, on paper, appeared to have issues with team work, and an agent who had leadership potential. Phil wanted to see who would step up and who would need a more hands-on approach. And which agents might not be SHIELD material at all.

~*~

The next morning Phil and Sitwell sat on the sidelines and observed the basketball courts while Walters cheered on his team. They lost by a landslide, but that wasn’t unexpected. Phil kept his attention on the team of trainees designated Team Platypus. Agent Len Nichols in particular, who had a reputation for being a sore winner.

Phil walked over to his team, who were laughing and jostling each other despite the loss, and shook their hands, told them all, “Good game.”

Phil turned to the other team, where Agent Nichols was bragging about how he’d made a lay-up shot that was only possible because he’d knocked Miller on his ass. A couple of his teammates listened with uncomfortable expressions on their faces, while the others stood back a few steps in order to distance themselves from the other agent.

“Congratulations on your win,” Phil said mildly.

Agent Nichols turned around and, still full of self-satisfaction, greeted Phil with an exuberant, “Agent Coulson!”

“Agents,” Phil said, including them all in the greeting.

“I hear we have you to thank for this fun game,” Nichols said.

“Among others,” Phil said affably.

“I heard what happened at the last basketball game you arranged,” Nichols said. “Did you really think your team of misfits was going to beat us, show us that we need to work together?” Nichols said smugly, like he had it all figured out.

“Oh, no,” Phil said. “I didn’t expect them to win. They’re pretty bad at basketball.”

“Then what was this all about, if not winning?” Nichols said. “How you play the game?”

“Something like that,” Phil said.

“Bullshit,” Nichols said. “It’s all about winning, and no one _really_ cares how you do it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s so,” Nichols said. “Even you. Sir. I’ve heard about Budapest.”

The entire gym went silent, and all of Nichols’ teammates, even those who had already distanced themselves from him, took a step back. Phil’s heart beat drummed loud in his ears, but he kept his face blank. “If you knew half as much about Budapest as you think you do, Agent Nichols, then you wouldn’t mention it.”

Sitwell interrupted their standoff. “Don’t you all have somewhere to be?”

“Yes, sir,” Agent Vivian Oscars said before turning quickly on her toes and escaping. Her movement started the others moving, though Nichols gave Phil a long look before following them.

Phil felt someone step up to his shoulder. Without looking he knew that it was Clint. “You want me to take care of him for you, sir?” Clint said.

The corners of Phil’s lips threatened to twitch. “That won’t be necessary, Barton.”

“Are you sure? It would be a pleasure.”

Phil glanced sideways. Clint’s fingers were white where he gripped the basketball he’d picked up somewhere.

“Walter’s team will kick their ass at paint ball tomorrow,” Phil said. “Besides, you have a basketball game to win.”

Clint grinned, nudged Phil with his elbow. “I know who your real A-Team is,” he said.

Phil raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Clint winked, then returned to warming up with the rest of his teammates, most of them the same from when Sitwell had first helped him arrange the game for the benefit of his misfits.

“Porpoise,” Sitwell muttered when Phil joined him on the bleachers. “Who came up with these team names?”

Phil smiled and tried not to think about the inclusion of Kyle Gordon on Clint’s team. Phil watched Clint laugh after he made a three-point shot, then grab a rebound and go in for a lay-up, and let the image of him covered in blood and unable to talk without blood bubbling out of his mouth fade into the past.

Phil turned his head so he could watch Team Porpoise warm up, and then concentrated on their play during the game. As Phil had hoped, Agent Matt Keller stepped easily into the role of team leader, and more importantly, the others followed him.

~*~

Clint showed up before the paint ball match with a bowl of popcorn and soda. He wished the misfits luck, then joined Phil and Sitwell in the spectators gallery.

“What are you doing here?” Phil said, hoping the question disguised the way his heart leapt.

“Can’t I just want to keep you company?” Clint said.

Phil sighed. “You’re not even trying to be believable. At least share your popcorn.”

Turns out he’d brought enough popcorn and soda for everyone.

~*~*~*~

That afternoon Phil was called into Fury’s office. “If this is about the boobytraps Barton set, I knew nothing about it.”

“What are you talking about?” Fury demanded.

“Nothing? What did you want to see me about, Director?”

Fury gave Phil a look, but wordlessly slid a file across the desk. Phil flipped it open.

“What is this?”

“It’s everything we know about a man known only as John Smith.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “Pseudonym?”

“Obviously.”

“Why are we interested in him?” Phil said as he slid into the chair opposite Nick and pulled the file closer.

“Because HYDRA was,” Nick said. “We got his name from the information Romanov was able to copy off the hard drive in the lab.”

“What’s their interest?”

“They believe that he’s been doing research into the Super Soldier Serum.”

“There’s a lot of people doing the research,” Phil said. Every bad guy, and some of the good, wanted to replicate the serum, it seemed.

“He’s apparently had some success.”

Phil almost couldn’t speak. “Success?”

“HYDRA thinks so, at least.”

“Can we find him first?”

“We’re working on it. This is the second indication we’ve had that HYDRA’s looking for information on the Super Soldier Program. I want to know why.”

“There was nothing else in the information Romanov brought back?”

“We’re still sifting through it,” Nick said.

“What about the lab?” It had been flown away, but surely they had some way of finding it.

“We tracked it as far as Istanbul before it disappeared. Either they found the tracker Widow planted, or they’re disrupting the signal.”

“What are you planning?” Phil said.

Nick gave Phil a look. “I want to infiltrate HYDRA.”

“Right. Because we’ve never tried that before,” Phil said dryly.

“This time we’re not going to them,” Nick said with a grin. “They’re going to come to us.”

“You’re going to plant some information,” Phil said.

As far as HYDRA was aware, SHIELD hadn’t found their program and it was still crawling through their system, looking for anything it could find on the Super Soldier Program, or anything else of value to them.

“What makes you think they’re going to fall for it?”

Nick’s smile widened. “I hope you’re a good actor.”

Within the hour a flurry of encrypted e-mails were exchanged with the search and recovery team in the Arctic and Phil was on a Quinjet. Phil didn’t have time to say goodbye to anyone – he barely had time to take a piss and pack cold-weather gear before he was being hustled onto the jet.

“You report only to me,” Fury said in a low voice that was still loud enough to be heard in the next hangar. “I’m counting on you to be my one good eye.”

Phil rolled both of his where only Nick could see, but snapped, “Yes, sir, Director.”

The moment Phil stepped off the ramp it began to raise behind him. Phil stowed his gear and buckled himself into a seat. He had an earbud in so he could communicate with the pilot, and a familiar voice filled his ear.

“It’s a balmy minus ten degrees in the arctic, so have your sunscreen ready. Also, I hope you’re buckled in, sir.”

The jet lifted off, but Phil barely felt it. His blood ran cold, then hot. Fury hadn’t mentioned that Clint would be coming along on this mission and Phil was perturbed at being caught by surprise, that was all. “Keep your eyes on the road, Barton,” Phil said, but it came out late, and a little flat.

Once the jet was in the air and Clint had announced that the ‘unfasten your seatbelt’ sign was lit, Phil did just that. He steeled himself for the short walk to the cockpit and slid into the empty seat beside Clint.

“How did you get roped into this mission, Barton?” Phil said, forcing an unconcern he didn’t feel.

“Fury said you needed a pilot and back-up,” Clint said. Without looking at Phil, he added, “I take it you didn’t ask for me.”

“To be fair,” Phil said, replying with one part of his brain while the other tried to parse the meaning behind Clint’s comment, “I didn’t realize I could ask for anyone. If I had known . . .”

“You still wouldn’t have asked for me,” Clint concluded.

“I figured that would earn me a very firm ‘no’ and a punch in the nose,” Phil said, trying to insert some humor into the situation and missing by a mile.

Clint’s only response was to shrug. Phil tried not to feel rejected by it. He said, “You were right, you know.”

Clint took his eyes off the instruments long enough to glance at Phil. “About what?”

“You and Natasha are my favorites.”

Clint smiled and turned his attention back to the flight panel. “I knew it,” he said, sounding actually pleased at the notion.

There was a moment when Phil thought about telling Clint that he’d broken things off with Audrey, that he’d realized he’d been in love with Clint all along, and then the moment passed and Phil realized how selfish that would be.

Phil spent the rest of the flight worrying. About who Fury was going to put in charge of his current project; Sitwell, maybe. About Tony Stark, now that he’d announced to the world that he was Iron Man. About Thor, and what his visit to Earth, and the existence of aliens, might mean for their future. About Audrey, and whether she’d end up taking the job offer that had made her seem so happy.

Only when he’d exhausted worrying about those topics did Phil allow himself to think about Clint. About Clint and Kyle Gordon. About how it had been a long time since Phil had seen Clint smile and laugh like that. How it used to be Phil earning those reactions. Phil wondered how he could’ve been so blind to his own feelings, to Clint’s. He’d had the chance once, that Gordon had now, but he’d thrown it away, and now it was too late.

Phil was glad when the base in the Arctic came into view.

~*~*~*~

They were met in the hangar bay by Agent Sarah Phillips. “Agent Coulson, Agent Barton, it’s a pleasure to have you both here. May I ask the nature of your visit? Director Fury didn’t say.”

Fury hadn’t said because he was trying to create an air of mystery if HYDRA really did have their computers monitored, but Phil assured her, “It’s just a routine check-in to see how you’re faring with the search.”

Phillips looked doubtful, but she didn’t dispute his comment. She led Phil deeper into the base. “We’re happy to show you our results. I’ve arranged a dinner with the myself and the head scientist on the project, after which you’ll get a tour of the labs. Here’s your quarters.” Phillips indicated the door in front of where they’d stopped. “You can take a few minutes to freshen up after your trip. I’ll send an agent to show you where the mess is at eighteen hundred.”

Phil didn’t realize that he and Clint would be sharing quarters until Phillips walked away without showing one of them to another door. There were twin beds and the room was more spacious than he’d expected.

Clint used the latrine first. When he came out Phil was very carefully hanging up his suits with his back to Clint.

“I’m going to go explore,” Clint said. “You should get some rest, sir.”

Phil turned around. “Barton, you were the one flying the jet, you should get some rest.”

“You know I’m always antsy in a new place,” Clint said.

Phil did know that, so he didn’t argue any further. He did sigh and give a resigned, “Barton,” when Clint stood on the bed and moved a roofing tile out of the way instead of using the door.

Clint grinned at Phil, and Phil hoped Clint couldn’t see how affected he was by it.

“You find out all the best things when people don’t know you’re listening.”

“That’s called eavesdropping, Barton,” Phil said to Clint’s disappearing feet.

Phil used the facilities, and then settled himself in the one chair the room held and called Fury.

“Agent Coulson,” Fury said. “I hope you arrived safely.”

“I did,” Phil said. “I didn’t realize you were sending another agent along.”

“You didn’t think I’d send you on something this important without back-up, did you?” Fury said.

Since it was merely a ruse, that’s exactly what Phil had thought. “You might’ve mentioned it,” he said.

“I might’ve,” Fury said, “but I didn’t. What’s your status?”

Phil told Fury that he was to be given a ‘tour of the labs’, and made it sound as if he was using a code phrase.

“Call me as soon as you’ve seen the labs,” Fury said. “I’d like an update on the search.”

“Of course, sir,” Phil said.

Phil didn’t flinch when Clint lowered himself out of the ceiling a half hour later.

“You know,” Clint said, already talking when all Phil could see were his knees. “When Fury asked me if I wanted a change of scenery he didn’t mention we’d be in the ass end of the arctic.”

“What _did_ Fury tell you?”

“He told me that it was hush-hush,” Clint said as he replaced the tile.

Phil raised an eyebrow. “He actually said hush-hush?”

Clint shrugged. “He might’ve said confidential, above your security clearance, blah, blah, blah.”

Phil couldn’t be certain that HYDRA’s monitoring didn’t extend to the base in the Arctic, so he wrote down a few sentences on a piece of paper and handed it to Clint.

He’d been thinking about this while Clint was out exploring. Even though the knowledge that HYDRA was most likely trying to create their own super soldier serum and had probably bugged SHIELD’s computer system was limited to a few top agents, Phil figured that if Fury sent Clint along as back-up he should know what the mission was, and the only reason Fury hadn’t told him before they left was to make the ruse even more believable.

Besides, Fury probably expected Phil to fill Clint in, and if he didn’t, he should have, if only in retaliation for having sprung Barton on him.

Clint raised his eyebrows at Phil but didn’t comment out loud on the news that SHIELD might be monitored and that they were there to make it look like they’d found Captain America, which would light a fire under HYDRA to create their own super soldier serum. Clint pulled a lighter out of one of his many pockets and held the flame to a corner of the paper. When it caught, Clint set the burning paper in the sink. They watched the corners curl up and Phil’s writing disappear as the paper turned to ash.

~*~

Phil and Clint contacted Fury after dinner with Phillips and Agent Mitchell Dix, the head of the project to retrieve Captain America’s body from the Arctic ice, and a tour of the labs. They were debriefed by Fury and Hill. Phil returned Fury’s knowing look when it was obvious that Clint had been read in by Phil, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’ll need you to stay for a few days,” Fury said. “I want updates at least twice a day on the status of the package.”

Fury gave Phil a look that said ‘checkmate’ and signed off.

Phil tried to retain a bland expression when he turned to Clint. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this, Barton.”

Clint shrugged. “It could be worse,” he said, and Phil got the impression that Clint didn’t mind being stuck in the Arctic with him in a single room with twin beds, but that couldn’t be right.

“Yeah,” Phil said to cover, “you could be babysitting Stark.”

Clint laughed. “Is that the official assignment designation?”

“I doubt it,” Phil said. “But feel free to tell her that’s how Nick described it the next time you talk to her.”

“Oh, I will,” Clint said with an evil glint in his eye.

~*~

If Phil had wondered what the two of them were going to do for the next couple of days, he need not have worried. Phillips took him at his word and brought him up to speed on every aspect of the search and recovery mission. She laughed when Phil couldn’t hide his excitement at the prospect of actually finding Captain America’s body and bringing him home after nearly seventy years.

While Phil got caught up in the details of the search, Clint used the shooting range (unfortunately they didn’t have a lane set up for his bow so he had to use one of the rifles and his handgun) and the gym, where he’d apparently beaten someone called ‘Moose’ in hand-to-hand if the scuttlebutt in the mess was to be believed.

Nights were fraught. Clint didn’t seem to have a problem sharing a room with Phil on a purely platonic basis, but Phil caught himself looking at Clint when he came out of the bathroom after his shower or when he first woke up in the morning, sleep rumpled and soft.

Phil was up and dressed in his usual suit, two cups of mess coffee in his hand when Clint stretched, and then reached out a hand for one of them.

“Thanks,” Clint said, voice roughened by sleep.

“You’re welcome,” Phil said, settling into the one chair. “It’s the least I could do after getting you roped into this assignment.”

Clint took a sip of the coffee and closed his eyes as the caffeine woke his systems. When he opened his eyes he was looking right at Phil. “Roped in?”

“I have a feeling that Fury is throwing us together to see if we can work as a team again,” Phil said. It was true, if not the whole truth. “He wasn’t very happy with me for breaking up his best team.”

Clint’s emotions cycled across his face before he hid them behind a blank mask. “That was my fault,” he said.

“No,” Phil said immediately, not letting Clint continue. “It was mine entirely. I didn’t realize . . . Well, there were a lot of things I didn’t realize back then. I never meant to hurt you, and I’m sorry for that.”

Phil thought about mentioning Kyle Gordon, but the words stuck in his throat. “Well, I should go meet with Phillips and Dix.” Phil stood and headed for the door. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Please don’t break any more of their agents,” Phil said wryly.

Clint grinned, and it almost reached his eyes. “No promises,” he said.

~*~*~*~

“You owe me,” Phil said when they were back in New York.

Fury raised an eyebrow. “Do I.”

“Yes. Give me the mobile quick-response team.”

“No.”

Phil had been expecting that, which is why he’d gone for the whole shebang on the first try. “Then at least let me submit a proposal.”

Fury gave Phil a look, like he knew Phil was playing him. “Fine,” he finally said. “But I’m not approving it.”

Phil nodded in understanding, if not agreement. “How has the additional training been going?”

Fury grinned. “Sitwell’s been having way too much fun.”

“Do I still have that job?” Phil said.

Fury got serious. “I want you back out in the field, Coulson.”

“You need hundreds of agents at their best more than you need one agent,” Phil protested.

“Not when that agent is you. How’d the mission with Barton go?”

“It went fine,” Phil admitted. He ignored Fury’s satisfied smile.

~*~

Phil found Sitwell in the cafeteria. Sitwell grinned and waved when he saw Phil enter. Phil got a cup of coffee and a banana nut muffin and joined Sitwell. “Fury tells me you’ve been having fun,” he said dryly.

Sitwell gave an evil chuckle. “No wonder you like this training shit.”

“What’s up next?” Phil said.

Sitwell looked surprised. “You’re gonna let me continue with you?”

Phil shrugged. “It’s always more fun to have someone to gloat with.”

They spent a couple hours that morning brainstorming training scenarios, and the next week putting them into practice. Between training exercises Phil wrote up a proposal for his mobile quick-response team. He saw Clint more now that Clint wasn’t actively trying to avoid him, which was good, except for the times he saw Clint and Gordon together. Phil was thankful for his years of experience which allowed him to keep his bland mask in place.

“What do you think is going on with the two of them?” Sitwell said one day when they were sitting in the cafeteria.

Phil didn’t have to raise his head to know that Sitwell was talking about Clint and Gordon who were sitting at another table. He snorted. “What do you think is going on?”

Sitwell looked confused and said, “No, really.”

“Really,” Phil said.

“Are you sure?”

“Do you think they’re being subtle?” Phil said.

“It’s a little over the top,” Sitwell admitted. “I thought he was trying to make you jealous, or something.”

“The finger bruises on Clint’s hip say otherwise,” Phil said, momentarily having lost the ability to censor himself.

Sitwell, who needed gossip more than he needed air, leaned over the table. “When exactly did you see these bruises?”

“This is not a topic for your water cooler gossip sessions,” Phil said.

Sitwell mimed locking his lips.

Phil rolled his eyes, but despite his usual discretion, said, “New Mexico. In the locker room after we both got caught in the rain.”

“It’s been going on that long?” Sitwell said.

Probably more upset that he’d missed out on gossip than interested in the actual length of Clint’s relationship with Gordon, Phil thought. He couldn’t resist stealing a glance at the table where Clint and Gordon had been joined by Ellison and Himmell. “We weren’t that obvious, were we?”

When Phil turned his head back to face Sitwell, he looked like he’d been hit with a two-by-four. “What?” Phil said, glancing over his shoulder to see if he could determine what had Sitwell looking like that.

“You weren’t that obvious about what?” Sitwell said.

Phil slammed his mask back into place, but not before he felt blood drain from his face. He hadn’t meant to speak those words out loud. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Phil glanced at his watch. “Oh, look at the time, I’ve got a meeting with Fury.”

“Coulson,” Sitwell said.

Phil ignored him as he stacked the detritus of his lunch back onto the tray and rose to his feet.

“We’re not done!” Sitwell called after Phil as he dumped his tray and hurried out of the cafeteria.

Phil really did have a meeting with Fury, and he didn’t expect it to go any better than his lunch with Sitwell had. Phil’s proposal lay in the middle of Fury’s desk when he was shown in.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Fury said grudgingly. “Who would you put in charge of it?”

“You know damned well who,” Phil said equably.

“Say I approve this idea, but I can’t afford to lose you, who would you put in charge?” Fury said.

Phil quickly ran through their top agents. “Carey,” he said.

“She’d be a good choice,” Fury said. “How’s your fiancé?” he said, surprising Phil with the question.

“Audrey is fine,” Phil said.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Audrey and I are no longer seeing each other,” Phil said.

Fury leaned forward over the desk. “You and Barton?”

“No,” Phil said, but he’d gossiped enough that morning so he didn’t mention Agent Gordon.

Fury sat back. “Hmm.” He paused a moment, then said, “I suppose you’d want my best team if I put you in charge of this project.”

“You’d need your best team for this,” Phil said.

Fury nodded. “I’ll think about it some more. In the meantime I need you on another mission.”

“I don’t have a team,” Phil said. “I’m not in the field anymore.”

“I’ll get you a team,” Fury said, ignoring Phil’s assertion that he wasn’t a field agent anymore.

“What I’m doing now is important,” Phil said. Keeping dozen’s of agents field-ready was more important than having one agent in the field.

“It is important,” Fury said, “but I need you on this one. You already know all the players and it’s more efficient than bringing another agent up to speed. Remember Stanley Carlsbad?”

Phil remembered. Carlsbad had his hand in everything from weapons to drugs to human trafficking. They’d intercepted a weapons delivery to rebels in Kashmir, which had led them back to his organization in Miami. They’d taken him and his entire organization down three years ago.

“His operation appears to be back up and running,” Fury said.

“How?”

“That’s what you’re going to figure out.”

Phil took the file and returned to his office. He didn’t jump when he saw Natasha sitting across from his desk, but only because she’d been kind enough to leave his office door open to give him a heads-up that someone was inside. He swatted her feet off the corner of the desk with the file he held, and then ensconced himself behind it, though its offer of protection was only illusory.

“What are you doing in New York?” Phil said.

“You mean, how did I manage to get out of babysitting duty?” Natasha said.

“I didn’t call it that,” Phil said. “I take it you’ve spoken to Barton.”

“I have. How was the Arctic?”

“Cold,” Phil said. “Seriously, why are you here?”

“Stark is in New York for a meeting,” Natasha said. “Fury wanted a report.” Without missing a beat, she said, “What’s going on with you and Clint?”

“Nothing,” Phil said reflexively. “He’s not avoiding me anymore and he’s talking to me again.”

Natasha held up the square object she’d been playing with. Phil went cold with dread, then hot with anger when he realized what it was.

“Did you go through my desk?”

Natasha tossed the ring box to Phil. “What happened?” she said gently.

Phil put the box back into the drawer and locked it with a look at Natasha, since the lock hadn’t kept her out before. He only considered not telling Natasha for a brief second because she could be relentless. “Audrey took a job in Portland,” Phil finally said.

“Maine?”

“Oregon.”

“Is that supposed to be better?”

Against his will, Phil laughed. “We broke up,” he said. “Obviously.”

“Because she left?” Natasha said.

“Because when she asked me to go with her I couldn’t say yes,” Phil said.

“Because of SHIELD,” Natasha probed.

“Mostly,” Phil said, but his hesitation before answering had been fatal.

“Have you told Clint?”

“No,” Phil said.

“Why not?”

“It would be presumptuous.” When Natasha merely raised an eyebrow, he said, “Clint’s moved on.”

Natasha snorted. “With Kyle? He’s just scratching an itch.”

“He seems happy,” Phil said.

“Well,” Natasha said, “he’s stopped avoiding you and he’s talking to you again.”

When Natasha left to give her report to Fury, Phil opened the file. The words blurred as he thought about what Natasha had said. It would be too good to be true if she was right. Still, Phil wasn’t the only one who had been involved with the takedown of Carlsbad. If he couldn’t have Clint back the way they’d been, then maybe they could be teammates again, friends.

~*~*~*~

Clint and Phil were using the conference room to spread out the information they’d gathered on the resurrected Carlsbad organization when they got the news that a mission had gone bad. There were injuries and one fatality. Phil and Clint went to the command center, where Sitwell gave Phil a sympathetic look and hurried over to his side.

“What is it?” Phil said.

“Walters’ team took heavy fire,” Sitwell said.

Phil’s hearing went wonky for a second and all he could see was Sitwell’s lips moving. “Who was it?” he said.

“Alvarez,” Sitwell said.

“Damn it,” Phil said softly. He clenched his jaw and straightened his shoulders, but he was glad for the hand Clint had placed on his back. “When is the jet going to land?”

Phil was waiting in the hangar bay when the ramp lowered. Clint stood at his right shoulder, Sitwell on his left, as if they thought they’d need to prop him up. Medical teams rushed in to attend to the wounded and Phil had to force himself to remain standing in place when everything in him wanted to hurry over and make sure everyone, everyone besides Alvarez, was okay.

Clint reached over and touched Phil’s hand when Alvarez’s body was transferred from the jet to a gurney. The others walked off the jet slowly, mostly in shock from the loss of one of their own rather than from the various injuries they sported. James held her arm awkwardly, Wong limped from a wound in his thigh, and Walters had a bandage on his head.

Phil stepped closer to the jet.

Walters stopped stiffly at the bottom of the ramp. “Sir.”

“I’m glad the rest of you are alright,” Phil said.

“I lost Alvarez,” Walters said, sounding like he was ready to break.

“You did everything you could.” Phil knew that was true because he’d obsessively gone back over the mission to see if there was something that could’ve been done differently, but there hadn’t been.

By the time they were done speaking the medical staff had led the others away to get looked at. Phil hesitated, but Clint touched his shoulder and guided him in the same direction.

“They’re not my team,” Phil protested weakly.

“They’ll always be your team,” Clint said.

Clint and Sitwell offered Phil moral support, which Phil thought was rich when the others had lost someone closer to them. Sanderson was quickly cleared because the blood she’d been covered in hadn’t been her own. When she saw Phil in the waiting area her eyes filled with tears. “That asshole,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Jerk,” Phil agreed, and then he had an armful as Sanderson hugged him with enough strength to make his ribs creak.

A few days later Alvarez’s body was released to his family with a cover story for his death. A memorial service was held by SHIELD, and Alvarez’s name was added to the wall. Natasha returned for the memorial and took over Sitwell’s spot on Phil’s left. Phil considered telling her and Clint that he wasn’t going to fall apart, but having them at his side again felt good despite the circumstances, and so he didn’t. Phil spoke, as did Natasha, and then he stepped back and watched the others remember their teammate.

Agents died. Phil knew that objectively, but sometimes it hit close to home. Phil let himself reach out and take Clint’s and Natasha’s hands. His mask slipped when they both squeezed back.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Phil continued to run training sessions with Sitwell while monitoring the situation in Miami. Clint was sitting beside Phil in the observation area above the paintball court, another bowl of popcorn in his lap. Phil had given him a look when he’d shown up with snacks, but that hadn’t stopped him from reaching into the bowl for a handful of popcorn.

Phil waited until Sitwell had left them alone to say, “You haven’t been out on any missions recently.”

Clint glanced over at Phil after catching a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “You brought me in on the Carlsbad thing,” he said slowly. “Did you not want . . . ?”

“No, yes,” Phil said. “Of course I . . . I didn’t want you to feel like you had to turn down a mission if one came up.”

“I’m good,” Clint said. “I want to stay on Carlsbad. Besides, I’m enjoying these training exercises.”

Phil tried not to read too much into Clint’s response. “How would you feel about making them more interesting?” he said.

Clint grinned.

Before Clint could set anymore booby traps, SHIELD intercepted a message from HYDRA to John Smith.

~*~

“John Smith?” their HYDRA contact said.

Agent Jemma Simmons raised her head from the tablet she’d been pretending to read. She looked the man over with a quirk of her eyebrow. “Dr. Miles Davidson?” Simmons said.

When the man indicated that he was Davidson, Simmons gestured to the seat next to her.

“You’re not what I was expecting,” Davidson said.

“That’s the point,” Simmons said. “Would you like something to drink?”

Simmons waved over a server before Davidson could consider rejecting the offer and he placed his order. When the server was far enough away for him to not be overheard, he indicated Phil, who sat at the next table with a newspaper he was ignoring and an obvious bulge beneath his suit jacket.

“Bodyguard?”

“A girl can’t be too careful,” Simmons said.

“He looks familiar,” Davidson said.

“That’s because he’s ex-SHIELD,” Simmons said. “Thank you,” she told the server when he dropped off Davidson’s coffee, ignoring Davidson’s gasp of surprise. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Simmons said. “He was happy to take the pay raise.”

“How did you meet him?” Davidson said warily.

“How do you think?” Simmons said.

“You’re SHIELD?” Davidson said.

“Can you think of a better place to hide?” Simmons said cheekily as she took a sip of her own coffee.

Davidson laughed. “They have no idea?”

Simmons leaned forward conspiratorially. “None.” She sat back. “Can you believe that they’re spending all that money on a program to find Captain America’s body when they could be putting it into research?” Simmons gave a disgusted shake of her head.

Phil fought back a grin. Simmons had been nervous when they’d approached her for the mission because they’d needed a scientist who could speak the super-soldier-serum language, but she was doing better than even Phil had expected. Phil took a sip of the coffee that had been cooling at his elbow to hide his reaction when Clint’s warm voice in his ear said, “She’s doing good.”

Phil tuned back into Simmons’ conversation with Davidson when she said, “You contacted me, Dr. Davidson, so I presume you have a proposal for me?”

“I do,” Dr. Davidson said. “A state of the art facility and all the resources, including funding, that you need for your research.”

“Mother always said that when something sounded too good to be true, it probably was. So what’s the catch?” Simmons said.

“No catch,” Dr. Davidson said. “Though obviously my employer would consider anything you discovered while working for them to be proprietary.”

“Obviously,” Simmons said dryly. “You might understand why that deal wouldn’t work for me. I retain ownership of my research, but instead of a bidding war when I finally crack the super soldier serum, I’ll give your employer first dibs on purchasing the formula.”

“You’d turn down unlimited funding?” Davidson said.

“Even with limited time and funding at SHIELD, I’ll eventually recreate the serum,” Simmons said. “And then your employer runs the risk of not winning the bidding war. Can they afford that?”

Davidson glanced at Phil.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Simmons said. “We could just take her. She’s only got the one bodyguard. That you can see,” she added when Davidson’s gaze returned to her. “Take my counter-proposal back to your employer, Dr. Davidson.”

“You should be careful,” Davidson said, unhappy at being dismissed. “Where would you be if SHIELD discovered that you were working to recreate the super soldier serum?”

“Do you really think that SHIELD would believe you over one of their best scientists?” Simmons said. “Besides, I’ve covered my tracks pretty well; there’s nothing to connect me to John Smith. You wouldn’t have been able to find me if I didn’t want you to.”

Simmons rose gracefully to her feet which was Phil’s cue. He stood and made a point of pushing back the side of his jacket so Davidson got a good look at the weapon holstered there before he moved to stand at Simmons’ shoulder. He touched his ear and said, “Status?”

It was in part for Davidson’s benefit – it wouldn’t do to have him not believe that Simmons really did have more than one bodyguard – but it wouldn’t hurt to get a report from Barton even though Phil knew Clint would’ve let him know immediately if he’d spotted a problem.

Phil could hear the amusement in Clint’s voice when he responded. “No one approached the vehicle, and no one seems to be paying the café undue attention.”

“I need to get back to work now,” Simmons said. “I’ll expect to hear from you soon.”

Phil smoothly stepped in front of Simmons and led her to the door. He opened it carefully and peered outside as if they didn’t have a lookout up high who would have warned them if there was anything to be concerned about. He kept one step ahead of Simmons to block her from any assault that might come from the front.

At the SUV Phil opened the rear passenger side door and breathed a sigh of relief when Simmons was safely ensconced inside the bulletproof vehicle. Phil walked around the front of the SUV and got behind the wheel. He backed out of the parking spot right in front of the café and pulled out of the parking lot. In the backseat Simmons was tapping at the screen of her tablet.

“Report, Barton,” Phil said as he took the first right.

“No one’s following you. The doc is on the move,” Clint said, sounding delighted.

Phil took another right, and then after a few blocks, another. He pulled into a parking garage and drove through to exit the other side, then pulled into an empty spot on the street, ignoring the cone that had been placed there to save the spot for him, which got flattened by a tire as thanks for its service.

“Talk to me,” Phil said as soon as the SUV was in park.

Both Barton and Simmons began speaking.

“Still clear, Coulson.”

“Dr. Davidson is showing up clearly,” Simmons said excitedly. “Thanks to the tracking isotope Fitz helped develop,” she added. “It’ll last for forty-eight hours, but hopefully we won’t have to wait that long for him to return to his employer.”

Simmons leaned forward and held the tablet between the front seats so that Phil could shift in his seat and watch Davidson’s progress. They hadn’t bothered putting a tail on him because of the isotope the undercover agent pretending to be their server had slipped into Davidson’s coffee, but he also took the same measures to lose a tail that Phil had taken – going in circles and doubling back on himself.

The moment Davidson headed for the highway Phil said, “Agent Walters, are you seeing this?”

“I am, sir,” Walters said.

Despite their recent loss Phil had gone to Walters with this op because the whole thing had started with their supposedly simple retrieval mission that had ended up with them needing to be rescued by the Black Widow and Hawkeye. He thought it would offer both a distraction and closure, and Walters had agreed.

“Wong, Miller, James,” Walters said, “take lead.”

James had insisted on being part of the op despite her broken arm, saying she could hold a ‘damn tablet’ with one hand.

“On it, sir,” Wong said.

Phil watched the tablet as the dot that represented the SUV carrying the three agents, parked five blocks away from the café, pulled out onto the street and followed the same path Davidson had taken. Another dot appeared, Walters and Sanderson taking a different route to the highway which would get them there ahead of Davidson.

Just then the passenger side door opened and Clint got into the SUV, his collapsible bow hidden inside the gym bag he carried. He dropped the fake set of magnetic plates they’d used to cover the SUV’s official plates into the foot well, looking over his shoulder as he pulled the door shut.

“Good job, Agent Simmons.”

Simmons blushed. “Thank you, sir. To be perfectly honest, I thought I was going to throw up at first, but it was all rather exciting.”

“It can be,” Clint said with a grin, which he turned onto Phil. “What are we waiting for, Coulson?”

It took Phil a second to realize that Clint was talking about the op, not their personal relationship. Phil gave Clint a look, but he turned to face forward and said to Simmons, “Let me know if Davidson deviates from his current path in any way.”

Davidson did not deviate from his path for over an hour. When he did it was to pull off at a gas station. He filled the tank, got a cup of coffee, and used the pay phone. The address of the gas station was relayed to the command center at HQ and they were able to pull up the number Davidson called, though they had no idea what he’d said.

Davidson got back on the highway and they continued to follow him while the computer savvy agents back at SHIELD HQ looked up the phone number, which belonged to 80 Days Shipping located in Baltimore, Maryland, and then took a deep dive into the company. A shipping company would be great cover for moving men and weapons for HYDRA, Phil thought.

When it became obvious that Davidson was remaining on I-95 south to Baltimore, Fury called the Triskelion in D.C. to advise them of the op and request reinforcements on standby. Hill sent satellite images of the port to the tablets. Phil had to keep his eyes on the road, so Clint and Simmons went over it.

“For a shipping company there are a lot of guards wearing tactical gear instead of security uniforms,” Clint commented.

“Any high buildings in the area?”

“Not that close to the water,” Clint said, “but they’ve got stacks of shipping containers that should do the job.”

At the next rest area Phil pulled off so Clint could drive while he reviewed the information coming in on the tablet. Phil buckled in before reaching for the tablet, since he’d ridden with Clint before. Simmons handed the tablet to Phil and he studied the satellite image. There were two ways to access the shipping yard: from the street, and from the water.

“We need agents on a boat,” Phil relayed to Fury, then asked Hill if they could get thermal imaging of the building so they knew how many agents were inside.

When the thermal imaging came through there were two dozen moving dots and an area of concentrated heat. “What do we think?” Phil said. “A barracks, a mess . . . ?”

“It could be equipment,” Simmons said. “Computers, for instance, give off a lot of heat, as does some lab equipment.”

“Maybe we’ve found your lab,” Clint said to Simmons.

Phil instructed Walters to take his team off at the exit before where GPS indicated that Davidson would be getting off, taking surface streets to rendezvous with them in the parking lot of a shipping company that had gone out of business, leaving the yard abandoned.

“Or they could be building some sort of weapon,” Simmons said, sounding unduly excited at the prospect. “If that’s the case, Fitz is going to be upset he missed it.”

“Maybe you could take pictures of it for him,” Phil said dryly.

“Wouldn’t that be against . . . Yes, of course it would,” Simmons said. “You’re joking. It’s just that, well, Fitz helped created some of Hawkeye’s new arrows, and he’s working on a tranquilizer gun, though he hadn’t come up with a name for it yet, at least not one we’re going to actually use, anyway, it’s just, that’s what he does. For SHIELD, not HYDRA.”

“Agent Fitz created some of my arrows?” Clint said, stopping Simmons’ word vomit.

“Yes,” Simmons said.

“I need to meet this guy.”

“He’d love that!”

~*~

Moments later Clint pulled the SUV off the highway onto Keith Avenue, then took a right onto S. Newkirk Street. Clint broke the lock on the gate, then swung it open so he could pull the SUV into the parking lot. Within minutes Walters’ two SUVs joined them.

Phil told Simmons to keep an eye on Davidson’s tracker and the thermal imaging map and let them know if anything changed. He set the tablet James had been using on the hood of the SUV, and he, Walters, and Clint, with Hill in their ears, strategized their assault on 80 Days Shipping: the strike team from D.C. would come in via Patapsco River, Phil would lead the land assault from Newgate Avenue, and Clint would find a position up high. Their team would split up inside; Walters, Miller and Wong to take out HYDRA agents, Phil and Sanderson to check on that large heat signature.

As soon as the plan was set Clint grabbed his weapons and jogged off to get into position. The others geared up in tactical vests and their weapons of choice. Even though they’d be remaining in the SUV, Phil made sure that both Simmons and James wore vests and had sidearms. The moment Hill gave the word that the D.C. strike team was in place, they divided up into the SUVs and began the short drive to the 80 Days Shipping yard. Phil verified that Clint was ready, then made sure his seatbelt was locked and gave Clint the okay.

Clint shot two explosive arrows. While the agents were distracted by the explosions Sanderson sped up and rammed the gate with the SUV, Wong right behind her. The agents guarding the gate turned back, but Phil fired out the window and took down the agent on his side. Someone from the second SUV got the other agent.

Their SUVs continued to speed towards the warehouse as agents spilled from around the sides of it in response to the explosions. Bullets pinged off the front of the SUV and Phil returned fire. Wong had pulled up to flank Sanderson and Phil, and both Walters and Miller also returned fire. From his position up high, Clint took out some of the HYDRA agents.

Both SUVs screeched to a halt and they piled out. Once they were in position on either side of the entrance, Phil glanced towards the gate, which was blocked by the third SUV, as he contacted Simmons. “How many left?”

“Eighteen, seventeen,” Simmons said. “Team D.C. just took out one more.”

“Location,” Phil said.

“Three are coming to meet you, three towards the river, and six towards the heat signature. The rest are remaining in place, though I can’t tell if they’re on the ground floor or one of the upper levels.”

While Phil had been consulting with Simmons, Miller placed C4 at the door’s hinges.

“Breach on three,” Phil said. He held his hand up and counted down silently on his fingers. When he’d reached three, Phil said, “Breach.”

Miller pressed a button on the remote detonator and two small explosions took out the hinges. Sanderson kicked the door in and leapt back just as bullets tore through the space where she’d been standing.

Phil waited impassively while the HYDRA agents used up their ammunition. When there was a pause in the shooting, Phil signaled with his hand. Sanderson and Wong went low, Miller and Walters high. After several moments of gunfire, Walters reported, “Clear.”

Simmons confirmed. Phil had a mental picture of the inside of the warehouse from the diagram Hill had pulled up from somewhere, but it was nice to have Simmons’ voice in his ear, guiding them into the depths of the warehouse.

Since so many of the agents had headed for the large heat signature, Phil determined that – whether lab or computers – it had to be even more important than they’d originally thought. Instead of splitting up he kept his team together to check it out and sent the strike team from D.C. after the remaining HYDRA agents.

“We’ve got a runner, sir,” Clint said. “He’s headed for the gate.”

“I see him,” James said.

“Agent James,” Phil said calmly despite being pinned down by gunfire.

“Sir,” James replied.

“Don’t let him escape.”

“No. Sir,” James snapped out.

“Barton,” Phil said, ejecting his magazine and replacing it with a full one.

“On it,” Clint said.

Phil tuned out what was happening outside the warehouse, and elsewhere inside it. They’d disabled at least two of the six agents guarding whatever was behind this door, but the long hallway between their position and the door meant they were at a disadvantage. “Who has the best arm?”

“Sanderson,” Miller said. “She can’t make a basket for shit, but she can throw hard.”

“Grenade?” Walters said.

“Stun only,” Phil said. “We don’t know what an explosion will do to whatever is behind that door. If it’s a power source, we could create a crater where Baltimore used to be.”

“Miller, Wong,” Walters said. “Lay down cover fire.”

Wong fired around the corner, then Miller flung himself across the hallway and added his own fire. Sanderson stepped around the corner, pulling the pin as she did so. She drew her arm back and threw. All three of them dove back around the corner and had just enough time to plug their ears and close their eyes before the grenade went off.

As soon as the bright flash of light diminished Phil was up and moving, the rest of the team right behind him. With his weapon pointed straight ahead he charged down the hallway. All of the agents were incapacitated except for one who had the presence of mind to try to raise his gun.

“Drop it!” Phil demanded, and felt no compunction in shooting the man in the shoulder when he only tried harder to aim the gun at the moving targets his team made despite having been knocked silly by the concussive force of the grenade.

All four agents were disarmed and trussed up with zip-ties. The moment the team was out of immediate danger, Phil said, “Barton, report.”

“Target in custody; no injuries. At least, not to us.”

“Good to hear it,” Phil said dryly, trying to keep the relief out of his voice. “Simmons, where do we stand?”

“The strike team has taken out the remaining seven HYDRA agents,” Simmons said. “The only unaccounted for heat signature is behind that door, sir.”

“Very well,” Phil said. He nodded to Miller. “We’re getting ready to breach.”

The small amount of C4 used to blow the hinges on the door would hopefully not cause anything behind the door to explode. Just in case, though, Phil made them all get back around the corner before Miller pressed the button on the remote detonator.

This time Wong got the honor of kicking in the door. Phil went in first, taking in the room at a glance: there was a lot of equipment and several men and women in white lab coats. One of the scientists raised a gun from below the table where she worked. There was a stinging sensation across the biceps of Phil’s left arm. By the time he finished his pivot and had her in his sights, there was already a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead thanks to Sanderson.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” someone was yelling. “We’re just doctors, scientists!”

Even minus the fact that someone having just shot at them belied that claim Phil wouldn’t have lowered his weapon until they were all secured. While he, Walters and Sanderson kept the remaining lab coats covered, Wong and Miller made sure that no one else was armed and restrained them with zip-ties.

Once they were all seated in the middle of the floor where they didn’t have access to anything in the lab, Phil began questioning them. “What are you doing here?”

“We don’t have to answer your questions,” one of the scientists said at the same time another said, “Research, that’s all!”

“What are you researching?”

No one answered that question, but one of the men said, “I just monitor vitals.”

“Whose vitals?” Phil said.

The man seemed to realize that he shouldn’t say anything further, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from darting to a back corner of the lab. Phil’s gaze followed. All he saw was more equipment he didn’t know the purpose off.

“Keep them covered,” Phil said. He walked around the entire lab, looking at the benches filled with microscopes and other equipment he couldn’t name, medical exam tables, a chair that reminded Phil of his worst trips to the dentist, and a cylindrical piece of equipment.

Phil moved closer when he realized that there was a window into the interior of the cylinder. His breath caught when he saw a face behind it. “What the hell is this?” he said.

“A cryogenic chamber,” one of the scientists said. “You’re going to need us.”

“Why?” Walters said.

“Because they’ve already started the process to awaken him.”

Phil swore. “Barton!” he snapped.

“Sir?”

“Confirm that we’ve cleared the building, then I need you to bring me Simmons. James.”

“Sir.”

“Make sure no one enters or leaves this shipping yard.”

“Yes, sir.”

Phil looked at Walters, who was staring in horrified fascination at the cryo chamber. “No one outside of our team enters this room.”

“Yes, sir,” Walters said, dragging his eyes away from the cylinder.

Phil left the lab in Walters’ capable hands and walked down the hallway and around the corner. He switched to a private channel and told Hill what they’d found in the lab. A clean-up team was already on the way, but Hill said she’d send down a medical and scientific team of their own to look over the equipment.

Phil switched back to the regular channel. “Barton?”

“On our way, sir,” Clint said, sounding overly formal for a post-op conversation. When Clint appeared with Simmons and a member of the strike team, Phil understood why.

Phil pushed away from the wall where he’d let himself lean during his conversation with Hill and blocked the hallway. “Barton, please make sure that Simmons makes it to the lab safely.”

“Sir.”

“Team leader . . .”

“Rumlow, sir,” the strike team leader filled in.

“Rumlow,” Phil finished. “Thank you for your support on this op.”

“Our pleasure, sir,” Rumlow said. “Any idea what they were doing here?”

“Not yet,” Phil said. He didn’t miss the way Rumlow’s body angled, as if he wanted to see what was around the corner Phil was guarding. “I’ll be sure to tell Director Fury how instrumental your assistance was.”

“We don’t do it for the glory, sir,” Rumlow said. “Can I or my team be of any further assistance?”

“No,” Phil said. “A clean-up team is on the way. Let me walk with you back to your team.”

Rumlow looked like he wanted to argue, but he bit back whatever he’d been going to say. They hadn’t gotten very far when Barton joined them. Phil noticed a certain tension ease from Rumlow’s muscles, as if he’d been holding himself in readiness for something.

They met up with the rest of the strike team and Rumlow ordered them back to the boat. As they passed through the warehouse on their way to the river Phil noticed that none of the HYDRA agents the strike team had been responsible for taking out had been taken alive. Phil watched the boat until it disappeared from view down the river.

“What’s wrong?” Clint said.

Phil shook his head. “There’s something about that man.” He set the feeling aside to deal with later. “Let’s go check on James.”

James, one arm in a sling, patrolled the gate that was blocked by the SUV.

“Report, Agent James,” Phil said.

“The gate is secure, sir,” James said.

“How are you doing?”

“Better than him.” James tipped her chin towards Dr. Davidson, who had been cuffed and propped up against the front tire of the SUV. He had several cuts and abrasions, probably from when the vehicle he’d been driving had suffered an explosion and rolled over. Phil gave the arrow embedded in the front grill an approving look.

“Dr. Davidson,” Phil said. “We meet again.”

“I thought you were ex-SHIELD,” Davidson said.

“I lied,” Phil said.

~*~*~*~

The clean-up team gathered up the bodies and the prisoners and swept the warehouse for anything they might have missed. Hill arrived with the scientists and medical personnel, including Agent Leopold Fitz.

Phil and Clint escorted Hill to the lab. She looked at the files that Simmons had found, including a book written in Russian.

“Do you realize what this is?” Hill said, sounding as if she’d just seen a ghost.

“Yes,” Phil said bitterly. “SHIELD has been searching for Captain America for decades, and instead we find Sergeant Barnes.”

“What?” Hill said.

Phil indicated the cryogenic chamber and Hill moved over to it, stood looking through the window.

“Oh my god,” Hill said. She raised the book, let it fall. “This is all part of their Winter Soldier program.”

“How did HYDRA get hold of it?” Clint said.

“Are you telling me they’ve had Barnes all these years?” Phil said.

The drive back to New York was made mostly in silence. Simmons had remained behind to lead the SHIELD science team and Walters’ team was in charge of securing the area. When they pulled into the garage, Clint said, “You okay?”

Phil shook his head. First Alvarez, and now Barnes. They unloaded the SUV and returned tactical gear and weapons to the armory.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Clint said.

Phil’s heart skipped a beat, but before he could say or do anything embarrassing, Kyle Gordon appeared.

“Heard you were back, Barton!” Gordon said.

The two men exchanged some words that Phil didn’t hear over the buzzing in his ears. He finally tuned back in when he realized that Clint had called his name more than once.

“Don’t be alone tonight,” Clint entreated again.

Phil forced a smile. “I won’t be,” he lied.

Phil waited until Clint and Gordon were gone before heading for Fury’s office. It was late, but the light was still on. Phil didn’t bother knocking. If he’d hoped to surprise Fury with his visit he would’ve been disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” Nick said when he saw Phil’s face.

“Besides the obvious, you mean?” Phil said, thinking of the face he’d seen behind the glass in the cryogenic chamber.

“Besides that.”

“Brock Rumlow,” Phil said as he settled into the chair in front of Fury’s desk.

“You mentioned him in your report . . .”

“He led the strike team from the Triskelion,” Phil filled in.

“Okay. What about him?”

“That’s what I’m wondering. There was something . . . off.”

While Fury waited for Phil to put his bad feeling into words he got out the bottle and two glasses from his bottom drawer. Phil watched him pour, losing himself in the light playing through the brown liquid as it spilled into the glass. Phil took the glass Fury slid across the desk and sipped, letting himself feel the burn as the whiskey slid down his throat. His limbs felt heavy as the heat spread through his body.

“Rumlow,” Phil began. “He came to the lab with Barton and Simmons even though his presence there hadn’t been requested. He seemed very eager to get inside that room, almost as if he knew something important was in there.”

Phil took another sip. He noticed that Fury hadn’t drank any of the whiskey in his glass, but didn’t comment on it.

“He let me escort him out, and left with his team when I assured him that a clean-up team was on the way, but it felt like . . . I don’t know. He really didn’t want to leave us there with . . . what we found in the lab. And the agents his team were responsible for, they were all killed with a shot to the head.”

“So they’re good at their job,” Fury said.

“My team killed three men and captured over a dozen soldiers, agents, and scientists,” Phil said. “The bodies we recovered were shot in multiple places, most of them disabled. The head shot came after they were down.”

“What’s your point?”

“Dead men tell no tales,” Phil said.

“You think Rumlow works for HYDRA?” Fury said. Most people would’ve laughed at Phil’s fanciful ruminations, but not Nick Fury.

Phil sighed. “I don’t know what I think,” he said. “I just know that his behavior felt off to me.”

“You think we should look into him.”

“I do.”

~*~

Phil didn’t run into anyone on the way to his office. It was three hours earlier in California, but Phil thought that if he spoke to Natasha right now she’d be able to tell that something was wrong. The thought of walking to the parking garage and driving home made Phil’s limbs feel even heavier. It took him several tries to unbutton his wrinkled jacket and hang it over the back of the chair.

Phil thought about undoing his tie, unbuttoning the cuffs of his button-down, but putting that much effort into it made sleeping on the couch in his office seem more premeditated than he was willing to admit it might be. He sat and leaned his head back, closed his eyes. Phil’s breath was just evening out when the door opened almost silently.

“This is the opposite of not being alone tonight,” Clint said softly.

Phil tried to muster up a snort. “What are you doing here, Barton?” The words came out more sharply than Phil had intended; he hated for anyone, especially Clint these days, to see any appearance of weakness.

“I noticed your car was still in the parking garage.”

While he was leaving with Gordon, Phil thought snidely.

“Too tired to drive home,” Phil said, admitting to the lesser weakness.

“I could’ve driven you home,” Clint offered.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Barton,” Phil said, finally opening his eyes. “Go. Don’t keep your friend waiting.”

“My friend?” Clint said, and something in his tone warned Phil that he’d given something away.

“Agent Gordon,” Phil clarified, hoping his matter-of-fact tone would cover for any slip he’d made.

“What makes you think Agent Gordon is my friend?”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “Because I’ve seen the two of you together. Talking. Laughing.” Before Clint could tell Phil that those things meant nothing, Phil said, “And the bruises.”

“Bruises,” Clint repeated.

Phil wanted to be pleased that he’d said something that surprised Clint, but he wasn’t. “On your hip,” Phil went on. “When we were in New Mexico.”

Clint actually blushed. “So when you say that Gordon is my ‘friend’, you mean sex-friend.”

“He seems to make you happy,” Phil said without addressing the matter of Gordon being Clint’s sex-anything.

“What about you?” Clint said. “And your . . . fiancé?”

“What about Audrey?”

“Isn’t she going to be worried about you if you don’t come home?”

“Audrey’s in Portland. Oregon,” he added as if that made any difference.

“What’s she doing there?” Clint said.

Somehow they’d gotten onto dangerous territory without Phil realizing where they were headed when he’d started this conversation.

“Working,” Phil said, then added, “Living.”

“When’s she coming back?”

“She’s not.”

“Ever?”

Phil shrugged. “Let’s just say she has no current plans to return to New York.”

“So you’re doing a long-distance thing?” Clint pushed.

“We’re not doing anything,” Phil said, exasperated. “We broke up.”

“You broke up,” Clint said, his tone hard. “When?”

Phil swallowed hard. He wondered how exhausted he had to be to allow himself to get pulled into this line of conversation. “A couple days after we returned from New Mexico.”

“New Mexico,” Clint repeated. “What happened?”

“She had a job offer, it was a great opportunity. I told her she should take it.”

“So she left, just like that?” Clint said, almost sounding upset on Phil’s behalf.

“She asked me to go with her,” Phil said. This whole talking thing was a lot easier to do when his filters were down. “I said no.”

“Why?” Clint said, breathless.

“Because I didn’t want to leave SHIELD,” Phil said. He watched Clint’s face fall, go blank, and couldn’t stand it. “Also, I realized I loved her, but I wasn’t in love with her.”

Clint’s head came up. “You weren’t?” he said hopefully.

Phil shook his head.

“How did you figure that out?”

Phil felt like all the air had been punched out of his lungs. He took a deep breath, said, “Because I’ve apparently been in love with someone else for years.”

Clint’s expressions cycled through surprise and happiness and anger. “Were you ever going to tell me this?”

“No,” Phil said.

Clint was so startled by that answer Phil thought he could’ve knocked him over with a feather. “Why the hell not?”

“Because you’d moved on, and you seemed happy. I didn’t want to ruin that for you. If I even could. And, if we’re being perfectly honest, part of me didn’t want to know if, if you didn’t care anymore.”

“So you were being a coward,” Clint said.

“Yes.”

“You’re an ass.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Clint’s eyebrow went up in question.

“Natasha.” Phil went on before Clint could ask why Natasha knew before he did. Although, to be fair, Natasha knew a lot of things before anyone else did. “She found the ring in my locked desk drawer,” Phil emphasized, “and interrogated me about it.”

“I am, like, really pissed at you right now.”

“Understood,” Phil said. He tried not to feel disappointed when Clint turned towards the door. Disappointment turned to surprise when Clint closed the door with him still on this side of it. “What are you doing?” Phil said, an embarrassing breathless quality to his tone, when Clint turned back to him.

“I’m not even sure it matters,” Clint said as if he was talking to himself, “but did you mean what you said?”

Phil snorted. “I believe I’ve said quite a lot of things tonight.”

“That you’re in love with me,” Clint said with a hint of exasperation.

“I don’t think I said that,” Phil said, quickly adding, “but yes.”

“Do you have . . . _any_ idea,” Clint said.

“Yes, I believe I do,” Phil interjected. “I’ve missed you quite a lot.”

“You broke my fucking heart.”

“I know,” Phil said, because he did know _now_ , even though he’d been blind to it at the time. “I’m sorry about that.” He wanted to reach out to Clint, but he was afraid that any move he made would disrupt whatever was happening here.

“Don’t do it again,” Clint said. He took a step towards Phil.

“I won’t,” Phil said. Certainly not on purpose, but he thought it prudent to not qualify his promise right now.

Phil’s breath caught when Clint leaned over him, bracing one hand against the back of the couch so he could place a knee on the cushion beside Phil’s leg. Phil raised his hands so Clint could straddle his lap. He didn’t know where to put them, and eventually just let them drop onto Clint’s legs.

“Clint,” Phil said. He didn’t know if he was going to make a protest or a plea.

“Shut up,” Clint said, sounding almost angry, and then he covered Phil’s mouth with his own.

The kiss started out hard, punishing, but Phil couldn’t help moaning into it.

“Shut up,” Clint said again, softer, his breath a warm feather across Phil’s lips before he claimed Phil’s mouth again.

Clint gentled the kiss, but Phil’s lips already felt bruised. He slid his hands up to Clint’s hips and pulled him closer. Clint pushed down and Phil pressed up and when their groins touched he moaned again. Clint bit Phil’s bottom lip and Phil tried to pull Clint impossibly closer.

Clint pulled away with a groan. He evaded Phil’s searching lips and kissed a path down his throat that Phil eagerly tipped his head back for, then he slid off of Phil’s lap and collapsed on the couch beside him. “We’re not having sex in your office,” Clint said, breathless and resolute.

It took Phil a moment to collect himself and parse what Clint had said. “Huh,” he said. “That used to be my line.”

That drew a small laugh from Clint. “Come on,” he said. Clint took Phil’s hand as he stood, pulling Phil with him. “We’re going to my place because it’s closer. To sleep,” he emphasized. “I was serious about you not being alone tonight.”

“I miss your place,” Phil said wistfully.

“You hated my place.”

“I guess it was just you I missed, then.”

“That’s your fault,” Clint said.

“Yes.”

Clint looked like he wanted to kiss Phil again, or maybe punch him. “I don’t want to make the same mistake we made before,” he said.

Phil felt like he _had_ been punched in the gut, but Clint was right. “Okay. I . . .”

“Will you go out to dinner with me?”

Surprise stilled Phil’s babbling tongue. “What? Tonight?”

Clint rolled his eyes. “You’d fall asleep with your face in your plate,” he said. “Besides, it’s kind of late. Tomorrow. Or the next day. This weekend. A date,” Clint clarified. “Where you know that I like you, and I know that you like me, and neither one of us is pretending that we don’t want more.”

“Oh,” Phil said. Warmth suffused his skin. “Yes. I’d like that.”

Clint smiled, and Phil wasn’t ashamed to admit that it made his chest clench a little bit and his belly roll pleasantly. Phil had seen Clint smile in the past months, and he’d been jealous every time that someone else was getting his smile, but now that he saw it again he realized that _this_ was the smile Clint reserved just for him, and he never again wanted to forget what it looked like when Clint smiled at him like that.


	7. Chapter Seven & Epilogue

**Chapter Seven**

“Join SHIELD, they said. See the world, they said.”

Phil regained consciousness to the familiar sound of someone grumbling. Or the sound of someone familiar grumbling. “I don’t remember saying that,” Phil said. Or tried to. His tongue was thick and his mouth was dry.

“Coulson, you’re awake,” Clint said, sounding relieved.

Phil groaned. He really wished he wasn’t awake right now because his head was pounding.

“Do you know how many times capture and torture have been part of the fun SHIELD experience?” Clint complained as he ran gentle fingers through Phil’s hair.

“What happened?” Phil said, the knife stabbing behind his eye made it impossible to think.

“I don’t think they believed that we were health inspectors,” Clint said dryly.

The memories came back in a flood that made Phil close his eyes and groan. They’d been working on the supposedly closed down Carlsbad organization when their covers had been blown and they’d been sprayed in the face with something, which was the last thing Phil remembered. “What did they hit us with?”

“Some kind of knock out spray,” Clint said. “I think you got the worst of it. I’ve been worried,” he added softly, his fingers gentle on Phil’s temple.

“Sorry,” Phil said.

Clint snorted.

“Did it work?”

“I don’t remember the part where we were supposed to get captured,” Clint said dryly.

Capture _hadn’t_ been part of the plan. They’d just needed to keep Ramon Thomas, Stanley Carlsbad’s son-in-law, busy long enough for Natasha to sneak into the building to confirm the weapons shipment they’d heard chatter about so they could tag it and follow it to its destination before raiding the warehouse and putting the Carlsbad organization out of business for a second time.

“We should probably just start including for that possibility in the plan,” Phil replied just as dryly. He smiled (or thought he did, he couldn’t feel his lips), when Clint laughed.

“Nat’s on her way,” Clint said. “But now that you’re awake we can see about getting out of here ourselves.”

Clint helped Phil sit up, then got a back-up earbud out of the heel of Phil’s shoe. Clint stood and surveyed their prison while Phil slipped the earbud into his ear. He was slow rising to his feet; Clint gave him a worried look but didn’t offer a hand.

“I’m fine,” Phil assured him. “My head’s still pounding.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, “that took a little while to go away. The door’s pretty sturdy,” he added after checking the handle and the hinges.

“Where are we?” Phil said, looking around the room now that he felt more steady on his feet.

“Looks like a storage room,” Clint said, head tipped back as he studied the ceiling. “I don’t think they were planning on company.”

“What are you thinking?”

“If we can’t use the door . . . ,” Clint said.

“If that’s a drop ceiling it’s not going to hold your weight,” Phil said.

“I only need to get to the other side of the wall,” Clint said.

Together they moved boxes and stacked them along the wall so that Clint could test the ceiling. “It’s not a drop ceiling,” he said, “but there’s a water stain on the ceiling in that corner. The drywall might be soft enough to get through without making too much noise.”

Clint used a piece of wood that had broken off when they moved one of the crates to chop a hole in the ceiling. He reached into the hole and tore chunks of weakened drywall off the ceiling, handing it to Phil instead of dropping it to the floor. Phil piled the chunks on the crate, and then watched Clint pull himself up into the hole he’d made.

Clint had only been gone for a few seconds when Phil heard a key in the lock. He moved over to stand in front of the door, covering the dull ache in his head with his blandest expression. Two men stood in the doorway when the door swung inward; one held the key he’d just used to unlock the door, the other held an automatic rifle.

“You’re awake,” key guy said. His eyes darted around Phil. “Where’s the other guy?”

“What other guy?” Phil said.

“The guy that was in here with you,” key guy said.

Phil glanced around the space. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gun guy pushed key guy out of the way so he could reach into the room and slam the door back. His smirk fell when the door hit the wall instead of someone hiding behind it. Gun guy brought his rifle up to point at Phil and stepped into the room. He noticed the hole in the ceiling almost immediately.

“He’s escaped,” gun guy said, turning back to key guy.

The moment gun guy turned his back on him, Phil brought his hand down on the side of gun guy’s neck and kicked the back of his knee. Gun guy started to go down as he tried to turn back to the threat to which he’d left himself exposed. Phil punched gun guy in the kidney, then grabbed the rifle out of slackened hands.

Phil slammed the butt of the rifle against the side of gun guy’s head and hoped he woke with a headache to rival the one Phil had. When Phil raised his head, key guy was holding a pistol on him.

“What are you guys, DEA?” key guy said just before Clint dropped through the ceiling and landed on top of him.

Key guy remained on the floor when Clint, covered with white dust and holding the pistol, rose to his feet and looked at Phil. “Why is it always DEA?” he said.

“A lack of imagination, I suppose,” Phil said, joining Clint in the hallway. “Which way?”

Phil wondered why they didn’t run into anyone as they made their way through the warehouse. Finding Natasha sitting on top of a fork lift and seven men in various stages of consciousness, all zip-tied, answered that question. Phil lowered the rifle while Clint went over to prod one of the guys in the ribs to confirm that he was out.

“I thought we were going to call Fury before we did anything to blow the op,” Phil said.

“I made a different call,” Natasha said as she gracefully leapt to the floor. “Besides, the op was pretty much blown already.”

It was a fair point, so Phil just tilted his head. “Care to tell me why?”

“Because they’re not shipping weapons,” Natasha said. “They’re shipping people.”

Natasha took Phil and Clint to the office where a live feed showed a room that held at least fifty people, mostly young girls and boys. Phil clenched his jaw and didn’t reprimand Clint when he kicked a chair and smashed a table with his fist. Natasha handed Phil his phone and weapon. Phil holstered the gun and called Fury.

~*~

“Pizza at my place,” Clint said when they got out of medical.

By now the drug they’d been dosed with had worn off and was probably out of their system, but they’d run blood tests to be sure, and the lab was testing the compound they’d brought back, so the only injury were the abrasions on the knuckles of Clint’s hand.

Pizza was an excuse, Phil knew, but he gratefully accepted.

“Nat?” Clint said.

“You two go ahead.”

Phil watched Clint bite back his first response. Sometimes Natasha needed to be alone to process, while Clint liked to hunker down and keep his friends close so he could make sure they were alright.

“If you change your mind . . . ,” Clint said.

“I know where to find you if I do.” Natasha pressed a kiss to Clint’s cheek, then gave Phil a hug. “You can check up on me tomorrow morning at oh eight hundred in the gym,” she said to Clint over her shoulder.

Clint swore softly. “She’s gonna beat the crap out of me.”

“Probably,” Phil said blandly.

“You could show a little support, Coulson.”

“Did you want me to show up with the first aid kit, or with popcorn?” Phil said.

“Touche,” Clint said.

They waited for the elevator together. Normally Phil would’ve gone to see Fury when he returned from a mission like this, but it was _because_ of the mission that he needed to decompress. Besides, he’d been on the phone to Fury more than once since the discovery of the people in that room and he’d been fully briefed. Ramon Thomas and his cohorts had been arrested, and the victims had been handed over to agents better trained to handle the psychological issues that would surely arise from having been kidnapped to be sold into slavery. There really wasn’t anything more for Phil to do.

Phil drove to Clint’s apartment and set every security system Lola had before walking with him down the street to Clint’s favorite pizzeria where two large piping hot pies were waiting for them. Phil was instructed to hold the boxes over his head when they were attacked just inside the door to Clint’s apartment by Lucky. (On Phil’s first visit, he’d said, “When did you get a dog?” Clint had told him a fantastic story about the Russian mafia and Lucky saving his life that Phil believed one hundred percent.)

Phil set the boxes on the counter in Clint’s small kitchen and watched Clint’s t-shirt ride up as he reached into the cupboard for plates. Clint turned and caught Phil watching him before Phil could pretend to be doing anything else. Clint grinned as he set the plates down, then reached for Phil.

Phil allowed himself to be pulled close to Clint, and returned both the embrace and the kiss eagerly. Instead of carrying things further, Clint pulled back. Phil bit back a sound of protest and let his hands rest lightly on Clint’s back. They’d been on three dates now, not counting the night Clint had brought Phil back here to sleep after the mission that had taken them to Baltimore, and the closest they’d come to having sex had been make-out sessions on either of their couches after dinner and a movie, or a visit to the New York City Fire Museum (Phil hadn’t even know there was a fire museum in New York City), or rollerskating.

Phil wanted more, and he could tell that Clint was very close to giving in, but he respected Clint’s wish to take things slow, especially given how things had ended for them the first time they’d attempted a friends-with-benefits relationship. Phil gave Clint a close-mouthed kiss and stepped back. Clint gave Phil a grateful look and handed him a plate.

They each put a couple slices on their plates, and Clint dropped a meat-lover’s slice in Lucky’s bowl on the way to the living room. “He loves pizza,” Clint said when he saw Phil’s look.

“Is it good for him?” Phil said as he sat beside Clint.

Clint shrugged. “Just don’t try to take it away from him, you might lose a hand.”

They ate most of the pizza and watched Treehouse Masters until Phil’s eyelids drooped. “I should be going,” Phil said, biting back a sigh at the thought of driving to his apartment.

Instead of answering, Clint merely turned off the television and stood, reaching for Phil’s hand. They turned out the lights as they headed for the bedroom, and Lucky jumped back up onto his spot on the couch as soon as their backs were turned. They got ready for bed, and got under the covers, and Phil was just so damned glad to have Clint’s warmth at his back.

Clint’s arm tightened around Phil’s middle. He pressed a kiss to Phil’s shoulder and said, “Phil?”

Phil’s eyes shot open even as his mind was still processing what that might mean.

“Are you awake?”

Phil twisted around in Clint’s arms until they were facing each other. “I am now,” he said eagerly, ignoring Clint’s soft laughter.

“If you’re too tired . . .”

Phil kissed Clint before he could finish the sentence.

“I don’t want to rush you,” Clint said when Phil pulled back.

“I don’t think you have any idea how much I’ve missed you,” Phil said.

“I kinda do,” Clint said wryly.

“Yeah, I suppose you do,” Phil said sorrowfully. “Clint, if you’re not ready . . .”

This time Clint kissed the words out of Phil’s mouth.

~*~*~*~

The next morning Phil had a crisply starched shirt on and a spring in his step when he stopped in to see Fury. The bottle of scotch and two glasses were already on top of the desk. Phil’s mind raced behind his unruffled expression. “It’s a little early in the day for a drink, isn’t it?” Phil said blandly as he seated himself in one of the chairs in front of Fury’s desk.

“Not in Australia,” Fury said as he poured.

Phil leaned forward and picked up the glass Fury slid across the desk to him. “What are we drinking to?”

“Your new assignment.”

“The mobile quick-response team?” Phil said without much hope.

“No. I need you on something bigger.” Fury took a sip of whiskey before continuing. “Project Spring Thaw.”

“What is . . .? No.” Phil shook his head when he realized what Fury was talking about. “Please tell me we’re not really calling it that.”

Fury held up the folder that had ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamped across the front in red capital letters and pointed to the tab, where a label that said ‘Project Spring Thaw’ had been affixed. “Hill already made the label.”

“That’s . . . He’s not going to thank us for that.”

“That’s assuming he’s able to thank us for anything.”

“True,” Phil said, though he hated to admit it. “What exactly am I supposed to do?”

“You’re going to oversee the scientists working to wake up Sergeant Barnes and remove whatever programming the Russians and HYDRA put inside his head. You’re also going to find out everything you can about the Winter Soldier Program.”

“Is that all?” Phil said dryly. “Do I at least get to pick my own team for this mission?”

“You’ve already got a team,” Fury said.

“No I don–,” Phil automatically started. “Wait, Barton and Romanov? I thought you were sending Barton to keep an eye on Dr. Selvig and the Tesseract.”

“I’ll send someone else.”

“I’m not sure Romanov is going to appreciate another babysitting assignment.”

Fury snorted. “I’m sure as hell not gonna call it that. Agents Simmons and Fitz will head up the scientific and medical team, unless you have some objection.”

Phil remembered how well Simmons had handled her first field mission, and the expression of horror when she realized what they’d done to the man in the cryogenic chamber. “I have no objection.”

“Good,” Fury said. “Pack your bags, I’m sending you and your team to a secure location. FitzSimmons and the . . . equipment have already been established there.”

“Where’s that?”

Fury held up a lanyard. “I’ve got a couple of secret bases hidden around the world. This will get you into one of them.”

Phil noticed that Fury didn’t say they were SHIELD secret bases, but he didn’t comment on it. He took the lanyard. “How long are we going to be gone?”

“As long as it takes.”

“I’ll need to put in a request for someone to water my plants, then.”

“Do it now,” Fury said. “You’re leaving tonight.”

“Under cover of darkness?” Phil raised an eyebrow. “Have you told Clint and Natasha?”

“Figured you could do that.”

“Well, then I’d better get going,” Phil said, rising to his feet.

“One more thing,” Fury said. “You could use a computer expert.”

Phil took the file Fury handed him and opened it. The photo of a young girl staring defiantly at whoever took the photo was clipped to the front of the file. According to the form her name was Skye. “She’s a hacker,” Phil said.

“A damned good one,” Fury said wryly. “She tried to hack SHIELD personnel files, which is how she got on our radar.”

“And you want me to take her with the rest of my team to a secret base where we’re going to be working on a top secret assignment.”

Fury smiled. “You make it sound like a bad idea. I figured you’d need a side project to keep you busy. Though you might want to keep her away from any networked computers for a while.”

Phil sighed, but he didn’t argue; Fury didn’t always like to share his reasons. “Where can I find her?”

“Interrogation.”

Phil reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

**Epilogue**

Phil waited until Clint powered down the Quinjet before getting out of his seat. He walked to the rear of the jet and lowered the ramp. Phil tried not to look too awestruck as he walked down the ramp, while also taking in as much of the hangar bay as he could.

“Agent Koenig,” Phil said when he reached the bottom of the ramp.

“Agent Coulson,” Koenig said. He reached for Phil’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “It’s a real pleasure to have you here, sir. I understand from Director Fury that you already have your lanyard?”

“Yes,” Phil said.

Koenig merely regarded Phil with an unnerving stare. The silence went on long enough that Phil realized he was expected to show the lanyard to Koenig. Phil drew the lanyard out of his pocket.

Koenig smiled widely. “Excellent, sir. Please wear the lanyard at all times.” He glanced behind Phil and his smile dimmed. “Agents Barton and Romanov,” Koenig greeted the two agents who accompanied Phil. “Director Fury instructed me to have lanyards waiting for you both. It’s highly irregular,” he went on as he stepped around Phil to hand out the two lanyards. “There’s a normal procedure, questions. But, it’s Barton and Romanov, so . . . ,” he added, almost to himself.

Phil turned to watch the exchange. Clint and Natasha thanked Koenig for the lanyards, and Clint met Phil’s gaze with a quirked eyebrow.

“You must be the hacker,” Koenig said when he turned his attention to the fourth member of their group.

“This is Skye,” Phil said before Skye could say anything.

“I wasn’t instructed to have a lanyard ready for you. So, unless you want to undergo the interrogation procedure . . .”

“I think I’ve been interrogated enough today,” Skye said dryly.

“. . . you’ll be restricted to the common areas. You’ll have access to the lab, but only when another agent is also present. Well!” Koenig took a step back and surveyed the four of them. “Welcome to the Playground! Let me give you a tour.”

The End


End file.
